


The Eastern Front

by omnenomnom



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, Charmione, Dragons, Drama, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, GoodguyCharlie2020, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, History, Magic, Potions, Romance, Romanian Dragon Sanctuary (Harry Potter), Slow Burn, Snark, Swearing, Time Travel, Time Turner (Harry Potter), Trapped in time, War, Worldbuilding, battle field, friendstolovers, light ptsd, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:02:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 40,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27730459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omnenomnom/pseuds/omnenomnom
Summary: A standard visit to the Romanian reserve results in Hermione and Charlie being thrown back in time. They are stuck in Romania, fighting on the wizard and dragon filled battlefield of the Eastern Front. They barely survived the last war, how can they make it through this one?
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Charlie Weasley
Comments: 103
Kudos: 121





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so hi. I don't NEED another WIP but apparently I do. This is a pet project of mine that will be updated sporadically as time allows. I will shoot for once as week.
> 
> This will be a world building long fic, similar to The Potioneers but hopefully not as long. (i am shooting for 60k but I know that is a lie.)
> 
> The summary and title are subject to change. Enjoy.

Hermione spun as she landed, letting the momentum of the portkey swirl through her arms until she was steady enough to stand. Over the years she had gotten better at landing on her feet but they still made her sick as a dog if she kept her eyes open.

“Gracefully landing, Master Granger.”

Hermione smiled even as the bright sun assaulted her vision. Charlie was leaning against the Main Office’s porch with crossed arms and a casual smile. Hermione rolled her eyes placing a hand on her hip in an attempt to intimidate him.

“Dragon Tamer Weasley, I do believe I told you not to call me that.” Hermione smiled broadly when the red-head scowled. Before he could respond a familiar face burst from the door.

“It’s Dragon Master now, didn’t he tell you? Or is the git just bad at writing letters as he is at dodging flames?” Hermione was quickly spun into a hug by one Marcy Sango. The Spanish witch was stronger than she looked from her years of working as Charlie’s partner and Hermione quickly found herself gasping for breath.

“Marce… Lungs!” Hermione wheezed while trying to glare at a laughing Charlie.

“Oh right, right. Sorry I just hadn’t seen you since my last visit to the Burrow. How are the boys? Is the research going okay? Are you getting enough-” 

Hermione let the witch carry on. Marcy reminded her a lot of Tonks and Hermione was pretty sure that’s why Charlie was such good friends with her. It did him good to be around someone with her energy. Still, Hermione wasn’t sure she wanted to be staying in the woman’s cabin or anything.

“Let the poor girl breathe Marce. You’ll talk her to death before she can get anything sorted _then_ where will we be,'' Charlie said, approaching for his hug just as Marcy released her. His arms were strong and gentle enough that when he lifted her up she didn’t even squeak anymore, something that served as the greatest disappointment to him. 

The two had grown close after the war when Hermione started her Healer’s training. She became aware of the criminal shortage of cure-all potions (which was really just a cure some potion but still incredibly useful) due to the rarity of dragon’s blood. It was that first Christmas when Charlie was visiting that the two had a massive screaming match over the roast duck about the usage of the potion and the ethics of dragon’s blood supply. Hermione was horrified to discover that almost the entirety of dragon's blood in the market came from poacher’s hunts where the dragon was killed and not the non-lethal, carefully monitored methods of retrieval used on the reserve. That explosive argument fueled Hermione’s drive to shift away from healing and into Potions. Less than a year later she completed the development of a synthetic product that served as an effective replacement for the four medical uses of dragon’s blood. 

The letter Charlie sent her after her work was published was filled with apologies and an invitation for a visit. It took until that summer for her to take him up on it and she was instantly in love with the Romanian reserve. 

Straight out of the gate she was loved for her creation. Most of the Handlers and Tamers had personally seen the aftermath of a black-market blood collection and were more than thrilled that her synthetic had all but decimated the wholesale slaughter of wild dragons. They were happy to show her around and provide further samples for her research when a dragon died of natural causes on the reserve. 

It was only due to this special treatment that she was able to develop her next synthetic, dragon liver. The replacement synthetic used in a variety of potions had earned her Mastery certificate in the field and set up her career as a Potioneer. At that point she became an honorary member of the reserve and for every visit since she was treated as one of their own.

“A promotion then!” Hermione said as he set her back down on solid ground. “Congratulations Charlie!”

“Not a big deal.” He waved off her praise but she could still see a small smile of pride pulling at his lips. “Titles and whatnots don’t matter. It’s the dragons that I care about.”

“Right, right,” Marcy said, nudging him out of the way so that she could face Hermione. “What are you working on next? Scales? Claw? Maybe-”

“The big one, Marce,” Hermione smiled, resting her hand on the shorter witches shoulder softly. “Heart string.”

Hermione had been turning over this particular battle for years in her mind and was only just now starting to move on it. Almost all of the dragon heart strings were harvested illegally and used as wand cores for wands that sat on shelves for decades waiting for ‘the right wizard’ to come along. Thousands of dragons that had died for no other purpose other than wait on the possibility that some eleven-year-old kid would appear to match with it and frequently never finding them.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Marcy said her eyes wide with awe. “Don’t do anything by half-measure do you Granger?”

“She sure doesn’t!” Charlie responded by throwing an arm around her shoulder. Hermione smiled indulgently as he guided her away. “Let’s get you settled. Merago gave me the day off to get you settled and show you around.”

“I’ve been here loads of times Charlie,” she responded nudging him in his ribs. 

“Yeah, but I wanted the day off.” He boomed a laugh and Hermione shot an exasperated look over her shoulder at his waylaid partner. Marcy was smiling suspiciously at them and waved her off.

“Hold tight!” Charlie shouted, pulling her tight against his body. Hermione barely had a second to brace herself before the telltale pull of apparition spat them out on the hard wood of his porch. Hermione groaned, her body barely settled from the port key and braced herself against the railing of the cabin.

“I hate it when you do that.” 

“Which is why it’s so fun!”

Hermione focused on the descending tree line until her vision stopped swimming and she felt like she could support herself without falling down the mountain. Charlie's cabin was beautiful, placed far away from camp. 

He had built it himself and it served as a look out post over the most active part of the reserve. Even now she could see the circling forms of dragons in a variety of colors entering and exiting the Roost, the massive man-made mountain where most of the reserve’s resident dragons called home. They were just the barest of specks against the brilliant blue of the sky but the slow drifting movements calmed her all the same.

“You’ve got to get out of that lab more,” Charlie commented leaning against the railing beside her. “The fumes are making you ditzy.”

“What do you think I’m here for?” she murmured, her eyes still locked on the serpentine form of a Chinese fireball as it raced across the sky like a ribbon.

“My charming personality and striking good looks?” 

Hermione couldn’t help but roll her eyes. Charlie knew he was handsome in the rugged sort of way. The physically labored kept him fit, his muscles were always hinted at under whatever shirt he was wearing. The dragonhide pants clung to him in a criminal way that made the witches back home drool whenever they went out over the holidays. 

As much as his mother hated his long hair, Hermione argued for him every time she wanted to cut it, loving the sentimentality of the single braid curled behind his ear. She knew it was woven with hand-carved beads made from the shells of eggs he had hatched. Tied to the very end of it under an imperturbable charm was a bright gold feather from a Kingfisher, denoting his rank. When she had last visited it had been a brilliant blue.

“So... Dragon Master,” she hummed, lightly running her fingers over the soft, shining feather. The rest of his hair was tied back with a leather strap but he always left the braid down. His pride in his job outweighed any annoyance it caused. She wasn’t supposed to touch it of course. It was a _thing_ to all the workers on the reserve, essentially a taboo. Honestly the whole ritual behind the braids struck Hermione as a bit tribalist and cultish but it wasn’t until Charlie drunkenly explained it one night that it finally hit her. It was more than just decoration, it was a mark of lives saved and nothing mattered more to anyone on the reserve other than that.

“So they say.” Charlie smiled broadly, watching her from the corner of his eye. “Ready for yours yet?”

Hermione scoffed, dropping her hand.

“Master Potioneer is enough for me. I still have that damn certificate they gave me under a pile of coffee cups and rat kidneys.”

Charlie laughed, grabbing a curl just under her ear and tugging at it lightly.

“Here. this one would be perfect for it.” 

Hermione shook her head gazing back out at the barely tamed land of the sanctuary. They had offered her a job after the first discovery, serving in the reserve’s hospital. By the second they would have given her any title she wanted.

“Knock it off Charlie.” Hermione smiled when he pouted dropping the curl. It looked ridiculous when paired with his overgrown scruff. She pushed off the railing to a stand, turning to walk back into the cabin. “Please tell me you have coffee.”

“I knew you were coming, didn't I?” he responded, following her at a leisurely pace.

Charlie’s cabin was a mostly simple construct, consisting of one large room plus a bathroom. The lounging area had serviceable, but basic furniture and the kitchen contained just enough to see him through the odd meal not taken at the mess hall. The upstairs loft created an open half of a second floor where he usually slept. He would give up his bed and crash on the couch for the rest of the week (in spite of her repeated insistence that she could stay down at the barracks with the trainees).

The subject of her staying with Charlie was a hotly debated one on the reserve. Every time she visited she was treated with envy and scorn by any new recruits to the sanctuary for staying with him. Eventually they were all informed by their mentors of what was what and the heat died back. Over the years the story had morphed to the tale that she stayed up all night having hotly debated arguments (true) and wild sex (not true) that resulted in her previous discoveries. 

Only the oldest of Tamers like Marcy knew that the very first time she visited she had stayed in the barracks and woke up screaming and hexing half of her cabinmates. It was only when Charlie took her back to his place and kept her awake talking about the war until the sun came up that she was able to sleep. Over the years the nightmares had died down but the arrangement stuck, partially because Hermione was a major fan of his private bathroom.

Hermione summoned the coffee from the cabinet along with her mug. The bright red cup was the only spot of color in his house and she insisted on it after cutting her lip on one of the chipped mugs he refused to get rid of. She opened the cooling box and pulled out the milk to sniff at it.

“I take milk in my tea you know. It’s fresh.” Charlie laughed, settling on a wooden stool on the other side of the counter. Hermione had insisted he build something he could sit at while she cooked after the second visit. Otherwise he fluttered around her in the kitchen until she got distracted and burned herself.

“I never know with you,” she responded, primly adding it to her mug. “How’ve you been Charlie?”

“Eh, good. Old Orpheus is as temperamental as he had ever been but we had a new batch of Herbrian Black hatchlings come in last week. Young little tikes we think we're being hatched for pit fighting.” A dangerous look flashed across Charlie’s face and he snarled. 

It was something that always made the rest of the Weasley family uncomfortable. They had only ever known Charlie as a kind, gentle soul. Seeing his anger when he talked about the injustices committed against dragons concerned them. It just reminded Hermione what she was fighting for; which was why she made time to sneak off for a week at least a few times a year to center herself.

“How are they faring?” Hermione smiled into her cup when his look of feral rage was replaced by a soft, loving grin.

“Doing alright. We have an opaleye who’s clutch had been crushed and she took them under her wing. Sometimes I can’t help but wonder if she thinks anything of the color difference. She certainly seems to think she can lick them white.”

They caught up while Hermione sipped on her caffeine. Her portkey had triggered at the crack of dawn and even though it was a few hours later on the reserve Charlie was still halfway through the work day. He politely waited until she had finished her second cup before leaning across the island and swiping at her wrist. She barely had the time to put her mug down with a swear before he was porting them back down to the camp.

She landed in a stumble, Charlie’s large hand catching her hip to steady her. 

“Charles Cassius Wealsey!” she shouted, smacking her palm against his chest. “You absolute prat! Stop porting me around like lost luggage!”

The veterans of the camp chuckled at the interaction, barely sparing them a glance as they went about their task. Hermione rolled her eyes at the new female Dragon Handlers frowning deeply at her and whispered to those around them. She knew that Charlie was widely considered the reserve heart throb and was the subject of no small number of crushes mostly due to his ‘kind to everyone’ disposition but really it was getting old.

“If you don’t let go of me your fan club is going to maul me before the dragons get a chance to,” she said flatly, glaring up at him. He boomed a laugh and slowly unlaced his arm from around her waist, only to move it to her shoulder and pull them towards the infirmary. 

“Would that be such a crime?” he asked. “I could do with less of them and I am pretty sure you could take the lot!”

Hermione broke away as soon as they entered the infirmary, insisting on seeing the worst cases. The Dragon Healers just smiled indulgently at her, happy to withstand her trodding all over their space in exchange for the specially formulated healing potions that they never seemed able to replicate, even with her recipe.

Charlie followed along, helping calm the ailing beasts and offering his opinion as she worked. When she truly got going on an issue even the healers couldn’t keep up with her and left her Charlie to be her sounding board. Before she knew it the sunset was creeping through the windows and she was exhausted.

“If you’re done stepping on everyone toes, we can go see Orpheus,” Charlie said, sliding his navy cloak back on before holding a hand out to her.

“No way,” Hermione scoffed pushing past him. “We can walk. If I take your hand-”

Hermione was cut off as he stepped into her, his arm wrapping around her waist as they apparated. They landed on the very top platform of the Roost, Charlie laughing and her swearing. To be quite honest she played the whole bit up a little. By the end of her first visit she had grown used to his sudden side-alongs and trusted him enough to know that he would never fail in porting them anywhere. But his eyes always seemed to sparkle in humor every time he swiped at a body part to transport her with. So she let him believe she hated it.

“You’re such a-”

“Please, not in front of Orpheus Granger,” Charlie responded walking forward. “I know you have a filthy mouth but think of his innocent virgin ears.”

“Pardon?” Hermione scoffed. “That dragon has been here longer than the reserve itself. I’m fairly certain he has heard worse.”

Which was true. Orpheus was the oldest dragon on the reserve and as far as anyone could tell had been there since it’s conception. Charlie had been trying for years to identify his breed but the other experts of the world had never seen anything like the crystal blue dragon. Charlie had suspected he was some sort of cross-breed but he never took a mate so they were unable to figure it out.

His cave was at the peak of the Roost and was by far the largest and most richly appointed with the assorted treasures he had hoarded throughout his years. Most of it was gold or silver but in the very back where he only let her and Charlie enter was some old patina copper that always drew her eye. She couldn’t help but imagine that under the pile of riches he had some sort of ancient statute he had dragged out of the Grecian sea. It was unlikely that she would ever know, he didn’t tolerate many people at all let alone anyone rooting around in his hoard.

Hermione was unsure why Orpheus liked her so much. For Charlie it made sense, if given enough time he could soothe just about any dragon. But Orpheus was a nasty blighter who merely tolerated the existence of other Handlers and (in spite of the restraining wards around the reserve) came and went as he pleased. 

The first time Charlie showed her around the Roost, Orpheus came bursting out his cave in an instant, eyes locking on hers and charged to a skidding stop just short of her person. Charlie talked her through it, telling her to remain calm even as he was shaking like a leaf beside her. Hermione did as directed and cautiously held up her hand while the massive dragon watched her place it on his snout. From then on he would greet her at the Roost and occasionally find her out in the field. 

As if called, Orpheus stuck his head out of the cave, his brilliant blue scales catching the fading light to flash in the colors of the sunset. When he was in the sky you could barely pick him out the cottage-sized dragon all. His nostrils flared and Hermione heard the assorted keepers drawing attention to the act and turning to watch.

Sure enough as soon as Orpheus’s brilliant yellow eyes found hers he charged out of the cave, bridging the short distance between them with a flying leap until he came to a dramatic stop in front of her, kicking up dirt. Her hand was already up and he shoved his nose under it eagerly, 

She laughed scratching the massive drake’s snout and up his jaw to get at the spot just behind his spiraling transparent horn. They had tried for years to identify the substance, but the damn stuff either never chipped or the chips were too hard to find. It looked like glass but was harder than diamond, not even breaking when Charlie tried to scrape off a sample with one of their charmed grooming knives.

“There’s my big sweet boy,” she cooed, smiling at the answering rumble.

“Oi, I thought that was me!” Charlie responded ambling up to Orpheus’ other side. The dragon barely took note which seemed unfair until she remembered that he saw Charlie near every day.

“You could never fill this beautiful creature's place in my heart,” Hermione scoffed, looking meaningfully into the glowing silted eye, it was the size of her head. “Could he?”

Orpheus blew a puff of smoke that had some of the newer workers backing up rapidly. Which made sense, Orpheus, like all dragons, had fire and he wasn’t afraid to use it if displeased. However, in all the years with Charlie he had never once so much as flamed near the redhead or Hermione.

“I’ve been replaced!” Charlie agreed solemnly patting the dragon on his cheek. “Take care of her for me would you old boy?”

“Oh shut up you shameless flirt,” she quipped. 

Orpheus seemed to agree, shifting back and forth to give them warning before he took a running leap, flinging his massive body over the edge of the platform and into the air. Hermione and Charlie watched him seemingly fade into the sky, off to hunt his dinner and likely remind a few younger males of their place. No one had ever seen him fight but all of the drakes gave him plenty of deference. 

“Never gets old does it?” Charlie asked, still gazing in wonder as the last of the work for the night continued around them.

“I am convinced I will never see anything more beautiful than that dragon in the sky,” she responded with a smile. They watched long past when even his movement was invisible and night fell softly.

“Well, my rather esteemed guest. Mess hall? Or will you be gracing me with your cooking?” Hermione normally had no issues with the mess hall, even with it's bland food. She liked catching up with rarely seen faces and meeting new ones. But right now, she had had a long day and was in no mood to replay the same old conversations and questions she always had to answer.

“You’re a disgrace to your mother Charlie Weasley,” she hummed setting off at a trot. She was sure he thought he was being sneaky when he crept silently behind her, his hand reaching out slowly. “How do you eat when I am not around?”

“The same way I do everything,” he grabbed her hand and pulled her tight against his chest. She only had a second to brace herself, his cocky smile aimed down at her. “Perfectly.”

000000000000000000000000000000

“You have got to get a wife… or a husband. I’m not particularly chuffed either way,” Hermione said remaking the bed up in the loft.

“But if I had someone to remake my bed for me why would you ever come to visit?” Charlie asked, tossing a few blankets and pillows over the railing to land on the couch. 

“You know most men don’t flaunt their lack of domestic skills as a positive trait.”

“Don’t need to flaunt anything,” Charlie responded, helping her straighten the quilt. “You’re already cooking my dinner and making my bed.”

“Down!” Hermione commanded, trying to sound bossy but just sounding amused. 

Charlie shrugged, grabbing a pair of sleep pants before making his way down the ladder. Hermione slipped into his bed easily, stretching out over the wide berth of the mattress. She always told Charlie that she would take the couch or transfigure something but he insisted she take his bed. After the first time he suggested that if she kept arguing that they would be sharing she kept her mouth shut.

“All set for the night?” Charlie called up.

“Hmm, cozy!” was her response. “Such a large soft bed all to myself. And so nicely made too!”

“Don’t tempt me Granger,” was the grumbled reply. 

“What was that?”

“I’ll port you to Orpheus’s and you can snuggle up on _his_ bed you ungrateful wench.”

“Says the man who needed his bed straightened and his dinner cooked.” 

Charlie laughed before the lights shut off, soaking them in the kind of all encompassing darkness she could never get used to. Above the bed, Charlie’s ceiling had been transfigured into a massive glass skylight. In the pitch black of the reserve she could make out hundreds of thousands of stars on any clear night. It was almost enough to make her not want to ever close her eyes. Still she was tired, the stress of travelling and overexcitement of the day wearing down her energy until her eyes were shutting of her own accord.

0000000000000000000000000000000

“Hermione!” 

Hermione woke with a bolt of bone rattling-fear and confusion. Something tight was grasping at her shoulders and someone was screaming. It took her a moment to realize it was her. The second she did she stopped, her now-waking brain familiar with the practice. Charlie was hovering over her cautiously against the gray background of a cloudy dawn.

“Thanks,” she croaked. Images of lifeless eyes and a cackling laugh fading from her mind.

“It’s been a while yeah?” Charlie hummed pulling her tight against his bare chest. Her heart was still racing but listening to his forced it to slow, as if it wanted to beat in time with it. “You were due for one.”

“You make it sound like a healer’s appointment,” Hermione said with a shaky voice. She traced down a particularly nasty gash across his chest from when he was thrown into a cliff face by a rampaging Welsh Green by the name of Popcorn. (Honestly Hermione couldn’t blame the female considering Charlie was the one who had given her that name.)

“You okay? Anything that I should know about?” he asked. When he tried to pull away she tensed and settled next to her over the covers instead. He and Harry were the only ones that could calm her down this way. By the time Ginny moved into Grimmauld Place, Hermione ended up moving into a flat where she could soundproof the walls. She was mostly over the nightmares but sometimes she would see or hear something that kick started them again.

“I was just thinking about it earlier is all,” she said, trying to steady her breathing based off of his. 

Slowly but surely as the sky brightened she got a hold of herself, the tension leaking from her body until all that was left was the slightly disturbed morning exhaustion.

“What time is it?” she asked, finally shaking loose from Charlie's arms. He yawned and cast a quick tempus charm.

“Too early to be up but early enough to start the day... Mess hall is still closed though,” Charlie said with a grin.

"Oh, really?" Hermione asked, already knowing the answer as she folded back the blankets. “Do you happen to have eggs and bacon?”

“You know, I think I do.”


	2. Chapter 2

Charlie was cleaning up from breakfast, having thrown on a thin linen shirt and his handling gear while she cooked. Hermione had just stepped out of the bathroom in her own version of the uniform, dragon leather trousers and gloves as well as a harness over her own linen blouse. Whereas Charlie needed his hands and torso free, Hermione needed coverage for the noxious ingredients she would be handling as well as the harness for all of her gathering tools.

“You want to set up the lab now?” Charlie asked, drying his hands. "Get started on your swottiness before we head out?"

“It looks like rain,” Hermione responded, staring at the thick rolling thunder clouds that flashed over a distant mountain. Her eyes dropped to the distinctly egg-shaped lake the camp was built along, seeing the water ripple violently from the wind. Even nestled in between two mountains the camp still got hit by nasty storms every summer and this looked like it was going to be a doozy. “I think I’ll gather what I can before it hits and then set up after.”

She cast a few unbreakable charms on the case containing her traveling potions lab, slid it into her beaded bag, and looped it around her neck. She would set it up in a spare room in the infirmary later in the afternoon once she had collected some of the fresh, native flora. Charlie was outside, glaring at the Roost and clouds hovering behind it suspiciously .

“You alright?” she asked, moving to join him on the porch.

“Fine… just…” Hermione waited for him to finish while he sorted out his thoughts. He tended to think better when he half-spoke things before finishing them. “Do you feel that?”

Hermione blinked and looked out towards the Roost. The usually lazily floating dragons that peppered the sky were absent, instead all darting inside to hunker down against the storm. That in and of itself wasn’t unusual but the rate at which dragons were diving into the mountain was astronomical.

“Are they running from the storm?” she asked.

“Not the dragons,” Charlie said. Hermione gaped in surprise. It was rare Charlie thought of anything other than dragons. He wouldn’t be dismissing their odd behavior so lightly unless something serious was wrong.

Trying again she closed her eyes and took deep breaths, letting the quickly chilling Romanian air fill her lungs over and over again until she was focused. The world around her faded to blackness with only the usual sounds of the wildlife breaking the silence. Hermione’s magic hummed in response to the inherent fountain of power that always draped the reserve. It was a natural consequence of having so many magical creatures in one spot. Picking anything out of the thick cloud was almost impossible, even on the best of days. Still she waited because Charlie had noticed something and so it was probably important. He knew this place better than she did and there was-

It hit her suddenly for something so small. Far in the distance but slowly closing in; something that tickled at her senses. It was out there, rolling in with the storm. The magic was strong for the small size and Hermione was willing to dismiss it at first… but then she saw it growing, slowly but steadily. It was a long way off but coming closer...and getting bigger.

“Charlie-” 

“Let’s go.” Hermione held out her arm and there was no pomp or jovial nature when he grabbed her. They twisted away and landed just outside the Roost to mass chaos. 

Dragons were diving into caves everywhere, knocking aside other dragons and Handlers alike. Charlie broke away to help deal with an injured female who was snapping at the workers in her way of shelter. She was terrified and trying her best to hobble inside.

Hermione leapt to work, helping direct workers to various problem areas where the wrong drakes had entered someone else’s cave and gotten into a scuffle or levitating some of the back-up meat into cave mouths for those who hadn’t had enough time to hunt. By the time Charlie returned to her they were both covered in sweat and Hermione could practically taste the magic in the air.

“What is that?” she questioned, breathing hard she doused a younger Handler in an  _ aguamenti  _ putting out the embers on the back of his shirt. Charlie was staring up at the rapidly darkening sky just as rain started to fall.

“I don’t know. But it can’t be good.”

Hermione yelped when the few drops turned into a deluge. She cast a quick shield charm above them, saving them from the worst of the rain as it rolled down the sides of her bubble. The workers all ran for cover, some appartating out immediately others rushing to finish their task. Still Charlie just stood, his eyes searching the sky for something.

“Char-”

She was interrupted by a terrifyingly dangerous roar that sounded like shattering glass behind her. Hermione spun, watching Orpheus lumber out of his cave with smoke leaking from his mouth. He let out another earsplit roar that shook Hermione to her very bones. When he finished the Roost fell into an uncanny silence, the only sound was the rain falling on the rock. 

“We need to-”

Charlie was cut off by a low-pitched, rolling thunder that had Hermione covering her ears. For a second she thought there had been a lightning strike nearby and the resulting soundwave had just washed over her. It was only as Charlie yanked her forward, bringing her closer to the smoking Orpheus that she became aware of the massive black  _ monster _ landing in the spot they had just previously occupied.

The dragon was massive, its pitch black scales trimmed in a purple so light that it was nearly silver. It threw its head into the air and roared another challenge that sounded like thunder and fear. Hermione shook even as she followed Charlie, diving behind a rock near Orpheus's cave.

Orpheus had stepped forward, his crystalline scales glittering in the first flashes of lightning as he roared back in answer. For a second there was nothing, Hermione held her breath as the two drakes stared each other down. 

Suddenly lightning flashed and they were both up in air, twisting in the wind and rain. Human voices shouted in alarm dashing away from the fight. Challenges got messy and dangerous even at the lower levels. No one had ever actually seen another drake challenge Orpheus directly and it was bloody terrifying. 

A small part of her knew that she should run. That it wasn’t safe to stay and watch. But as lightning crashed in the sky providing a beautiful moment of clarity between the two dragons she was mesmerized and glued to the spot. 

Charlie was no better, pulling her along by the hand when the fighting males got too close for comfort, their fire warm enough to feel on her cheeks. The flames were mostly for show, both dragons being impervious to it. This battle would be fought with teeth and claws until one submitted to the challenge.

To her utter horror the newcomer slammed viciously into Orphues sending him careening into a nosedive that crash landed on the platform near Hermione and Charlie. Before she could stop him the red-head was dashing to the injured male. Hermione cursed, following him at barely a step behind, even as she slipped in the mud. She caught him just as they both reached Orphues, who was staring at the sky with a snarl.

“Are you insane?!? We can’t get in the middle of this!” she screamed over the flash of lightning and resulting thunder form somewhere above them.

“Not now Hermione! He’s hurt! I need to-”

Hermione fisted his shirt in her hand preparing to drag him away when she felt time seemingly slow. Her skin tickled, pelted by something smaller than rain. Charlie turned to her, and she felt the hair stand on the back of her neck. Hermione looked up against the rain, searching the darkness for the source. Orpheus roared next to her in slow motion but as she stared up into the sky all she saw was the all encompassing blackness of rain and the thick bolt of lightning rocketing down at them.

0000000000000000000000000000

Ash and burning. 

That was all Hermione could feel, taste or smell. She woke with a groan, feeling dust shift off her like a blanket. By the time she could creak open her eyes all she could see was gray.

Almost instantly she began to cough, painful clouds of grey bursting from her chest. Her eyes started to water and she was fairly certain she was suffocating.

“ _ Apa- Apapeno _ .” 

Hermione felt the familiar crackle of Charlie’s magic wick away the coating in her lungs and pulled it out of her mouth in something akin to a dry heave. She gripped her stomach tightly, trying not to lose her coffee. It was only when he started to cough violently as well she realized he was in no better shape.

“ _ Apapeno, _ ” she responded in kind, holding up her replacement wand. 

She had never found her old wand when the war ended and after learning of the ethics behind a dragon’s heartstring core she didn’t think she would be able to use it in good faith anymore. Her new beechwood wand was better suited for healing and potions anyway, the unicorn hair core much more flexible when it came to magic creation. A fact that was demonstrated by Charlie’s much smoother recovery as she pulled the thick ash syrup from his throat with ease.

“Thanks,” he groaned, pulling up to his knees. “Where are we?”

“I-” Hermione looked around. “I was hoping you could tell me. I think we must have been thrown from the Roost.”

“I suppose… but what happened here?”

The ash made sense to a point, the last thing she remembered was a burning hot lightning strike shooting straight for them. But that had been on the top platform of the Roost not in a flat open field. All around them ash swirled in little eddies of wind, catching in the air before landing elsewhere. Whatever had happened here was pure destruction.

“Forest fire?” Hermione suggested, pulling herself up when Charlie offered her his hand. “Started from the storm?”

“It’s one thing to survive a lightning strike,” Charlie groaned in response, stretching out his muscles. “I don’t think getting through two natural disasters is very likely.”

“Well what’s your suggestion?” she asked when he bent down picking up a gray rock. He held it carefully and blew across the surface, wicking it of ash until she was looking at a roughly smelted hunk of metal.

“Dragon fire,” Charlie responded with a scratchy throat. “Nothing else hot enough to melt the ore in the ground. This is what it usually looks like after particularly nasty fights.”

“How-”

Hermione’s question was cut off by the loud roar of a dragon that had them both flinching. Charlie tugged her close to his chest, pulling them behind a burned out stump of a tree. There was a breath of a moment where everything was silent. 

Hermione had to force her eyes to stay open as the ash was suddenly thrown back into the air by a powerful gust of wind. She held in her scream just as a massive creature swept low to the ground, barely ten feet over their head and gave another cry. The dragon banked and shot back into the sky, its bulky, dark-gray body giving away it’s species immediately.

“A Ukranian Iron-Belly,” Charlie mumbled in awe, watching the massive nearly-extinct dragon bank wide and continue to circle the area. The monstrous beast was nothing like the half-blind, nearly-dead creature she had ridden out of Gringotts on. It’s body shimmered in health, thick muscles guiding it’s flight and the sharp spikes of it’s crest lying flat to its body. As it turned to fly away Hermione saw the barest flash of metal circling it’s neck and considered the impossibility that the dragon they had escaped on somehow re-entered the wild and was thriving.

“That couldn’t be the same one right?” Hermione asked quietly as the creature disappeared into a mountain pass.

“I… I don’t. Wasn’t that poor creature half blind? How would it… We’ve got to get back to camp!” Charlie said, pulling them up swiftly, a near manic smile split his face. “I’ve got to report this. If we can find a way to get it into the camp wards we can give it it’s own territory and when we find a female can start reintroduction efforts. This is  _ huge _ Hermione! No one has seen an Iron-Belly in at least twenty years. We can-”

“Charlie, I know you are excited but calm down,” Hermione said, resting a hand on his shoulder.

“But-”

“Where is camp then?” she asked. “We’ve got to get back before you tell anyone anything.”

“Well it should be…” Charlie stalled spinning around as he looked for the various landmarks that were sprinkled over the thousand of square miles that made up the reservation. He frowned and the action sent a spike of dread down her spine, exacerbating that feeling that something was dreadfully wrong.

“Charlie?”

“I… I don’t know,” he said finally. “Even if we had somehow been blown from the Roost I know most of the reserve by the back of my hand… and I… well I have no idea where we are.”

“Nothing looks familiar?” she pressed. “Like a mountain range or-”

“There are a lot of mountains Hermione and they all look the same,” Charlie snapped. That worried her, Charlie almost never got snippy on the topic of anything other than dragon treatment. Paired with the fact that he had no idea where they were increased her sense of unease. Her war-honed instincts were flaring to the forefront of her mind, trying to tell her something but she couldn’t figure out what.

“Should we try apparating?” Hermione asked. 

“Do you feel any wards?” 

Hermione pulled her wand, focusing on the spot of land ten feet away. Only the Trainers and up were ever allowed apparition privileges on the Reserve. It was why she had always needed Charlie to side-along her. She took a step, finding herself ported ten feet away easily. She blinked at the red-head staring at her with a grim look on his face. They were outside of the wards.

“We couldn’t have been thrown that far… it would have been hundreds of miles...” Charlie mumbled, running his hand through his hair. “I can try just taking us back but if it’s too far…” 

Hermione grimaced at the risk of spinchling. The incident with Ron had left her (and him) scarred. Plus if they were truly that far from camp, he would just exhaust himself and leave them injured somewhere in the wilds of Romania.

“What do you-”

Hermione was cut off by the sound of multiple deep voices. She sighed in relief, even though they weren’t speaking English, the local muggle population were well aware of the ‘wildlife research facility’ in the mountains and would be able to direct them back.

“Oh thank-” 

Charlie’s hand suddenly covered her mouth as he dragged her back to the stump. She knew better than to struggle when she saw the hardened expression on his face. The voices continued and she dropped her own when he finally removed his hand.

“What’s going on?”

“Those aren’t ours,” he responded, his wand rolling between his fingers.

“Surely the local-”

“Not Romanians either,” Charlie growled gruffly, straining his eyes at the ridge in the distance. “It’s another language… German I think.”

“German? Are there any Germans on base?”

“Just two and they’re women.” Charlie’s shoulders tightened as the voices grew louder. “Wand up, we need to get out of here.” 

Hermione stood slowly, feeling a disillusion spell drip down her spine. Suddenly unable to see Charlie except for the shimmering of colors when he moved, she reached out blindly, finding his back. She traced it to his shoulder and down his arm before locking her fingers into his as they cautiously made their way across the opened expanse of burned out field. He was leading them to the closest corpse of trees, but they had an excuritating long, slow walk to get there and Hermione’s nerves were firing like crazy.

“Charlie... “ she whispered even as they crept along. “What’s going on?”

“They don’t belong here,” Charlie responded lowly. “They don’t move quietly, they don’t speak the language. That many in one group only means one thing.”

“Poachers,” Hermione hissed glaring over her shoulder at the slowly growing voices. 

If they were lucky Hermione and Charlie would make it to the trees before the party crested the hills. Poachers were widely hated on the Reserve for the obvious reasons. But more so than ethics, they were also dangerous, frequently killing anything that got in the way of their prize, even wizards.

Hermione and Charlie made it halfway across the field when the first shout of alarm went up. Hermione spun, throwing up a shield just as a nasty-looking, dark-purple curse bounced off her magic. The party on the hill certainly didn’t look like dragon handlers, dressed in dark cloaks over forest-green uniforms. The rapid casting broke her disillusionment and suddenly there was a rain of spells.

“Shite!” Charlie swore, dropping his own invisibility to throw up his shield while backing away. “Run Hermione!”

Hermione didn’t even dignify that with a response as she threw off stunning spells so fast her wand looked like a sparkler. One or two found their targets but the panic just called more people over the hill. Hermione and Charlie were outnumbered by at least fifteen wands and Charlie’s shield was showing signs of strain. 

“Get ready,” she hissed. Just as the silver bubble protecting them shattered she pulled them both to the ground, dodging the litany of spells crackling with dark magic. 

“ _ Ventus _ !” she shouted, sweeping the ash around them into the air. Charlie pulled her to his chest and rolled them multiple feet away, dodging the splash of spells that hit the ground they had just vacated. He yanked her up, tearing across the remainder of the field with her hand in his. Her eyes burned as she tried to blink away the gray haze. The sounds of angry curses echoed behind them even as they disappeared into the trees.

They kept running, the voices fading behind them as they were lost to the trees. They ran for miles, the sounds of snapping twigs and their pounding feet echoing to the forest around them. Hermione’s lungs burned painfully, even as she forced her body to push past it. Flashbacks of the war spurned her on, the pure, unadulterated fear keeping her moving. Charlie finally pulled them to a stop out of breath and safely hidden behind a rocky outcropping.

Neither spoke. Even for all of Charlie's physical prowess he was panting just as hard, peeking over the rock in the direction they had come. 

Hermione opened her bag with shaking hands. She summoned two restorative draughts and handed one to Charlie. He uncorked the vial and tossed it back without even looking. Hermione did the same feeling the tingling of magic travel through her body as the potion plied energy-starved muscles with nutrients and hydration. Slowly her legs grew steady and her breathing evened out, leaving them surrounded only by the sounds of wildlife restarting from their boisterous entrance.

“What… who was that?” Hermione asked, leaning against the cool of the rock. Her sweat had mixed with the ash from the field and created a horrible paste that made her skin feel like it was suffocating. She pulled out her wand, wicking away as much as she could with a scourgify. 

“Don’t… don’t know.” She turned to Charlie trying to get what she could off of him. “Poacher’s never travel in groups that big and usually a hodgepodge of nationalities and languages.”

Finally determining that they weren’t followed, Charlie sighed and ran his hand through his loose hair with a grimace. Hermione summoned some twine from her bag, transformed it into a black strap, and gathered the ash-tinged stands into a tight knot before tying it back. Charlie said nothing as she worked, his eyes scanning the area around them.

“Are we far enough away or do we need to keep moving?” she asked, tucking his braid behind his ear before stepping away. The gold of the feather was preserved to the charms but the rest of him was a mess. She was probably no better.

“Generally I’d say yes,” Charlie responded. “But I’m not sure who those people are. Poachers are a vicious lot and they aren’t opposed to some dark curse but… they were organized. They functioned as a unit with a clear chain of command. It… it looked a lot like…”

“Charlie?” Hermione prompted when he had fallen silent for longer than usual.

“It… Hermione, they looked like soldiers.” 

The statement hung in the air long after the usual sounds of the forest had returned. The birds chirped happily and she could see the squirrels hopping around the forest floor, searching for nuts and mates. It seemed so out of place after that realization.

“Charlie the war ended years ago.”

“News moves slow out here,” Charlie replied. “It’s not unheard of for one missed owl to result in a loss of crucial information...maybe they don’t know.”

“You’re kidding,” Hermione breathed running through any other scenarios in her mind.

“Have all the Death Eater’s been captured? Every single one?”

Hermione was thoroughly done with her years of fighting a war and living on the run. She left the heroics up to the boys, letting them hunt down the last of the Dark Lord’s followers. But… on nights where they had too many and was just her and Ron he would talk about the ones they had missed. The quick, vicious, particularly clever ones that slipped through the cracks. She hadn’t seen the tell-tale mask but by the Battle of Hogwarts not all of Voldemort’s followers wore them. Frequently the only way to tell an enemy from a friend was who was still wearing house colors or not hexing at you.

“What do we do?” she asked. “We don’t even know where we are. How are we supposed to handle a forgotten Death Eater cell?”

“Let’s get back first. I also need to report that Iron-Belly sighting and you can get ahold of Kingsley and Harry.” Charlie turned to her. “Can you send a patronus to Marcy? Tell her we need a pick up?”

“Sure.”

Hermione summoned her otter, immediately relaxing in the comforting silver of its form as it swirled around them. Charlie ran his hand over its ghostly back with a soft smile. He still had never managed a corporeal patronus and he loved seeing hers.

The otter came to rest in front of her, waiting for orders.

“Take this message to Marcy Sango; Charlie and I are lost somewhere out of the wards. We need a pickup ASAP, the otter should lead you back.”

Hermione ended the spell with a swipe of her wand. Her stomach dropped as the otter just stared at her before shaking its head.

“What’s the matter?” Charlie asked.

“It can’t find her,” Hermione responded, chewing on her lip. “Okay... take it to Master Merago instead.”

Hermione held her breath hoping that Charlie's boss would be able to send someone out to them. If they had been blown out of the wards by that dragon fight then there was no telling what shape the camp was in.

The otter chittered and leapt into the air, swimming away to eagerly deliver the message. Hermione and Charlie both sighed in relief and watched the patronus fade into the forest.

“I hope Marcy is okay,” Charlie said.

“I’m sure she’s fine. A patronus can fail for a variety of reasons. Maybe she’s asleep or under privacy wards,” Hermione responded, pocketing her wand cautiously, taking solace in the fact that the forest around them was calm. Surely if the Death Eaters were traipsing through the woods the wildlife would be the first to know. 

“Do you think we should say put?”

“Could take days to get someone out here depending on the shape of the camp,” Charlie responded, setting out at a brisk pace. “Your otter will take them back to us even if we move right? In that case, I want as much distance between us and that group as possible.”

“Sure,” Hermione agreed, falling into step beside him. 

“Hopefully they'll find us before nightfall. I don’t fancy sleeping on transfigured leaves tonight.”

As it turned out Hermione’s otter didn’t return by sunset and Charlie was starting to get concerned about traveling through the night. While he worked with dragons for a living they were far from the only dangerous beast in the wilds of Romania. 

With a groan Hermione pulled out something she had shoved to the bottom of her bag and had hoped she would never see again.

“I didn’t know you were a fan of camping,” Charlie joked as he waved his wand to clear the debris from their campsite by the stream.

“If I never stepped foot in this tent again it would be too soon,” Hermione responded grimly. “The damn thing may have kept the three of us alive on the horcrux hunt but it was not what I would consider… ‘a fun time’. Afterwards your father retrieved it when some muggles stumbled across it and got freaked out by the extension charm and gifted it to me. I honestly forgot it was in here.”

“Good luck for us then,” Charlie responded as he started setting up the tent. “Do you by chance have any food in that bag of yours?”

“Just some nutrition potions,” Hermione responded, closing up her bag and looping it around her neck. “They’ll keep you alive but won’t do anything for that hole in your stomach. I’m going to set up some safety wards so we can go out to scavenge some food and wait this out.”

Hermione set up the wards and returned somewhat crestfallen with some dubious mushrooms and watercress she found growing in the stream. She had brushed up on her survival skills after the war but most of her knowledge of edible plants was restricted to the British grown ones. Thankfully Charlie had better luck and was currently roasting a mysterious protein in a pot over the fire.

“Well we know we didn’t get blasted out of Romania,” Hermione responded, dropping her finds next to Charlie. “I found some Dog Rose so at least this wasn’t all a total bust.”

“If only you were as good at identifying food as you are at identifying potion’s ingredients,” Charlie said, picking up only one mushrooms and dumping the rest in the fire. He laughed at her affronted look. “They’re all poisonous except for this one.”

Hermione groaned but sat down to watch him cook. 

“Something is wrong about all of this,” Charlie said finally. “They should have found us by now or at least sent word.”

“It all does seem a bit strange.”

“Looking at the stars I know were in the same general place but I can’t recognize a thing. We should have at least run across one of the towns around the reserves or even a road.” Charlie served them both a bowl of mysterious but editable stew. 

“Would… would that group have anything to do with it?” Hermione asked cautiously. For all her part in the war she was fully aware that she had missed a lot of the real horrors. She had been stunned to find the damage done across London and the major magical communities of the UK. Towards the end it wasn’t unheard of for whole towns to be wiped off the map overnight.

“The war never made it here to that extent,” Charlie said even as he stared off into the darkness around them. “I doubt a sleeper cell like that would have been able to break through the Reserve’s wards let alone completely obliterate all signs of life. Wherever we are, there’s  _ never _ been anything here.”

On that cheerful note, they finished their meals and slipped into the tent. Hermione frowned at the reminders of the last time the tent was used. Her discarded seventh year books still lay scattered around the living area. The same blanket she had wrapped Harry with after he climbed out of the pool that contained the sword of Gryffindor was still laying on a nearby cot. Even their mugs, long dried of their liquid were still overturned on the table next to the wizarding wireless. When her vision started to blur it took a moment for her to remind herself to breath.

“I can’t imagine that this is in any way sentimental,” Charlie said coming up behind her, he wrapped his arms around her shoulder and his steading form was enough for her to realize that she was shaking.

“Not the best part of my life,” she croaked.

She could have lied but he wouldn’t have believed her. Even if he had somehow missed the photos running in the Prophet for six straight months his mother never shut up about how thin they all were. Hermione had thought it was an understatement. They were on the edge of starvation for months and it took nearly a year to put the weight back on. And the physical damage healed the fastest.

“Do you want to stay outside while I clean some stuff up?” he asked, removing his arms when she stopped shaking.

“I can help.”

“No, don’t worry about it,” Charlie said, stepping forward with his wand out. “I’ll take care of it.”

He vanished the cups and set about putting the tent back to rights. Hermione slowly watched it put itself back together, saying nothing even as silent tears burned down her cheeks. Charlie saw but didn’t comment. 

It was something she appreciated about him. He wasn’t as involved in the war as everyone back home. Whenever she tried to talk to Ron or Harry their anger just built up on each other’s making their misery worse. Whenever she tried to explain it to someone who wasn’t involved at all their sympathy felt hollow. Charlie was perfect for that, understanding without feeling the need to assert his own difficulties next to hers. It was something she would be forever grateful for, even if he didn’t understand the impact he made by just existing

“All done,” Charlie said, sliding his wand back in the holster on his hip. “Mum could do better but it’ll work. I...I put any clothes and books into that chest in the corner… in case you still want them later.”

“Thanks Charlie,” Hermione mumbled, worn from the emotions and trials of the day. Her body screamed from the labor and she desperately wished for a shower to wash away the soot and sweat. Instead she had a cot she had spent nearly almost a year of her life sleeping on.

“I’ll take the one on the right,” Charlie indicated over his shoulder. “You gonna be okay? I can join you. It'll be chilly tonight.”

“Yes- no,” she cleared her throat. “It'll be fine, sleep well, Charlie.”

When she slipped into bed she could hear the sounds of him settling down for the night on the other side of the tent. As silently as she could she pulled open her beaded bag and summoned a bottle of dreamless sleep. Nightmares would abound and he had enough to worry about right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dog Rose is the national flower of Romania. While not entirely exclusive to only Romania there is a very particular subspecies that only grows there.


	3. Chapter 3

“Come out with your hands up!”

The statement ripped Hermione from her sleep. She rolled out of bed with her wand drawn; having never quite broken that habit over the years and today she was grateful for it. Charlie was only seconds behind, still dressed in his full gear. He heart bounded just beneath her skin as her brain slowly remembered where they were.

There was a loud statement in Romanian and Charlie’s shoulders released just the slightest bit of tension. He nodded at her and they both headed to the flap of the tent. Hermione forced herself to slide her wand back up her sleeve as they greeted the daylight. 

They were surrounded by a large number of wizards, all with their wands trained on the space that made up the campsite. They were all dressed in matching dark navy robes and had the hardened looks on their face. Hermione swore softly; this was not a rescue party.

Charlie stepped forward, saying something loud in Romanian. The sound shattered her disillusionment wards and she saw all the wizards present adjust their aim on to center on Charlie. Hermione shifted closer to him, her wand hand twitching.

A gruff man with salt and pepper hair shouted something back and Charlie laughed.

“What?” she hissed.

“They want you to drop the wards and want to know where the Curse Breaker who put them up is.”

Hermione smirked at the older gentleman who was still watching them with narrowed eyes. She flicked her wand from her sleeve, spinning it through the protective wards like a broom collecting cobwebs until the last of the spells came down. 

The leader nodded at one of his men who cautiously threw a rock at the ground a few feet in front of them. When nothing happened he slowly stuck his foot forward and over the previous line of her barrier.

“Merlin, Hermione,” Charlie mumbled under her breath. “What in the hell did you do to freak them out so bad?”

“Woman put a lightning ward around your camp,” the elder man said. “Jenkins had to be ported back to the hospital tent when his muscles wouldn't stop twitching.”

Charlie successfully turned his muffled laughter into a cough when she elbowed him.

“Who are you?” the man asked.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Hermione said. The man turned his gaze on her, his stock build and slow drawl had her pinning him as an American but that meant nothing. Poachers came from all over. 

“You the one who sent the otter?” 

Hermione’s heart leapt. She had never seen these men before but perhaps this was the rarely-seen external team. They spent so much time deep in the wilds of the Reserve she wouldn’t have had cause to ever meet more than one or two of them.

“Yes,” she responded. “Did Master Merago send you?”

“Master?” the man asked. He turned back to his men. “Merago! Get up your scrawy ass up here!”

Hermione blinked at the blue-eyed, dark-haired youth before her. He was thin and weedy, nothing like the stocky middle aged man Hermione had known for imbibing a bit too readily on the pudding. He was ultimately unremarkable, even with the out-of-place clipboard shoved in his hands. Honestly if she charmed his hair red she would have mistaken him for Percy at first glance.

“Yes, Commander?”

“Do you know these wizards?” 

“No, sir,” Not-Merago responded.

“Well, isn’t that funny. That was some pretty magic Miss.” The Commander scowled deeply, glaring over the pair with suspicious eyes. “Now tell me what you want with my clerk before I blast this entire site to rubble.

“This was clearly a misunderstanding,” Hermione started. “I was trying to send that Patronus to Jean Merago.”

“Merago!” the Commander shouted. “You gotta brother I don’t know about?”

“No sir.”

“Cousin?”

“No sir.”

“Merlin be damned, second-uncle twice-removed?”

“Er… No sir. Not one out here anyway.”

“Well, in that case.” The Commander turned back to Hermione. “I think you oughtta tell me how in the sam-hell that wispy ghost creature slipped into my camp in the dead of night without triggering my security.”

“It’s a spell,” Charlie interrupted. “Used for sending messages. I apologize. We were trying to contact the Reserve and it must have-”

“I haven't received any reports from the Reserves,” the man snapped “And I can guarantee they keep me updated. Who in the hell do you think you are?”

“I’m Dragon Master Charlie Weasley and you better watch your tone,” Charlie growled. Hermione places a steadying hand on his forearm. Now was not the time for a Weasley temper.

“You better watch yours Weasley, I know Septimus and I doubt your Head of House would like to hear about some uppity young-blood of his family talking back to me.”

Charlie just blinked in confusion, which the Commander took as capitulation. They were saved any further outburst as the young man, Merago apparently, flipped through some papers and whispered something in the Commander's ear.

“Dragon Master you say?”

“Yes and it is of utmost importance I get back to the Reserve ASAP,” Charlie responded shaking out of his thoughts. “We spotted a male Ukrainian Ironbelly and I need to report-”

“No need to report anything, Weasley,” the man growled, waving down his men’s wands. “That one was one of ours.”

“Yours?” Charlie asked, bewildered.

“Aye.” The Commander stepped forward, carefully examining Charlie from a few feet away. His eyes rested on the harsh scaring revealed from Charlie’s rolled up sleeves. “At least they didn’t send us a greenstick. Scamander says you’re the best Dragon Specialist in the world. Well... other than his brother and I’m not taking some Nancy-boy who’s never seen battle.”

“Rolf? I haven’t seen him since Luna brought him-”

“Ah whatever his name was. Thesus is the better of the two. It’s pretty clear where all the talent in that family went. He and I served in the last war side by side, good lad. You serve as well?”

“Yes…” Charlie responded cautiously. “I worked with the dragons for most of it but was there for the end.”

“Ah Amiens… Nasty business, that was. Well, if he’s recommended you, I’ll forgive the break in command.” The Commander’s eyes narrowed. “This time. Name’s Jon Higgs, you will address me as Commander Higgs.”

“Well… It’s nice to meet you Commander Higgs,” Charlie started. “But we really need to get back to-”

Hermione cut him off with a tug on his sleeve, that niggling sensation that something was wrong tickling at her mind. Everything about this conversation seemed off...and there was something about that name… Amiens... And Septimus… she was fairly certain that was Percy’s middle name...

“And who is the girl?” Hermione tried not to bristle at the fact he was still addressing Charlie. “I didn’t clear any civilians on this assignment.”

“The girl,” Hermione responded stepping forward. “Is Hermione Granger.”

She waited for the recognition but Commander Higgs just looked her up and down. 

“Of the Dagworth- Grangers?” The Commander asked.

“No,” Hermione snapped. No-one had asked her that in years, having earned the renown of her name on her own. Something had happened. Not to be vain, but even the magical community in Australia knew who she was and the war never touched them.

“Well then what magical family are you from, Sweetheart?” The Commander scoffed. “I don’t have all day to guess.”

“Black,” Hermione said, ignoring the way that Charlie flinched. It was a risk but something was deeply off about all of this and she did  _ not _ like the way the Commander had assumed that she came from a magical family. With that in mind the Blacks and Weasleys were the only family’s history she knew.

“I know most of the Blacks. Never heard of the Grangers.”

“We’re an offshoot of the main family. My mum,” Hermione responded, picking one of the long dead names from the tapestry. “Cassiopeia ran off and married a half-blood. Got burned off the tapestry.” 

“I know more Blacks that have been burned off that damn carpet than still exist on it,” Commander Higgs scoffed. “Doesn’t tell me what you’re doing here Missy. I called for a Dragon Specialist, not a house witch.”

“She’s not a house witch. She’s a Potion’s Mistress,” Charlie hissed in defense. 

“Alright fine, but I didn’t call for a Potion’s Mistress.” Higgs waved dismissively. “We get by just fine here on our basics.”

“We’ll you get me as part of the set,” Hermione insisted, lacing her fingers into Charlie’s. She nearly sighed in relief when he didn’t so much as flinch. “I’m his wife.”

“Merago!” Higgs shouted, causing the clerk to jump. “What’s the word from the Reserves about all of this?”

“Er-” Merago shifted through his papers, before clearing his throat. “Last we heard, the Dragon Specialist was with a convoy on its way to camp but it got raided a week or so ago. No survivors were found.”

Every eye went to Hermione and Charlie taking in their sooty and haggard appearance. 

“It appears we had just found some. Any mentions in those reports of a wife?”

“Yes.” Merago responded after flipping through the pages. “Although it was waiting for your approval after his arrival. It didn’t say anything about her being useful though. If we had known she were a Potion’s Mistress it would have likely been approved easily.”

“Oh that,” Hermione responded with an exaggerated sigh. “I told the idiot paper-pusher at the Reserves at least three times about my Mastery and he insisted that I refile the paperwork every time. I thought it had been sorted by the time we left but apparently not.”

“Well isn’t that sweet,” the Commander growled. “But camp has no room for bed warmers. Unless you can provide use, I’m not housing you.”

“We have our housing sorted,” Charlie responded, indicating the tent. “It’s charmed and expanded for luxury. We work on the road often.”

“And I can assist your healers,” Hermione added. “I always bring my lab with me and I have plenty of experience in both humans and dragons.”

“Dragons you say?” Higgs questioned. “Merago?”

“Well…” The youth eyed them cautiously. “The healers are really just skilled in first aid  _ and _ if we had a way to heal the dragons we could reduce rates of capture and deaths significantly. We could also benefit from whatever warding she put up, at least on central command...”

“You telling me we’re taking the girl?”

The boy’s deep cerulean eyes reminded her so much of the jovial Dragon Master that she was having a hard time seeing the weedy youth in front of her. He stared at the two of them, his eyes watching them with a sharp intelligence that belied his weak demeanor.

“She wouldn’t harm anything at the very least,” Merago finally answered.

“Alright then,” Higgs responded, turning back to Hermione and Charlie. “Well pack up your camp and Merago here will stick around to get you back. The rest of you, back to work!”

Hermione waited to relax until the rest of the men in the clearing apparated away in a series of cracks. Charlie relaxed next to her and it took her a moment to remember she was still holding his hand. She dropped it with a start as the clerk approached them.

“Hello… I’m Sora Merago. I… I don’t think we met but your message came to me.” 

He held out his hand and smiled weakly. In a way he reminded Hermione very much of a young Neville with his awkwardness in Ron’s teenage body. It was clear he was young, just barely past the seventeen and with dark brown curls that twisted around his ears. Bright blue eyes still held a touch of suspicion but were otherwise kind.

“Charlie Weasley,” Charlie responded shaking his hand firmly. “And I suppose we clarified that you don’t know Jean Merago?”

“Sorry,” Sora responded. “But the Reserves are large so it wouldn’t surprise me if one of my distant family members was in there somewhere. And who are you Miss...”

“Hermione Granger… Well Weasley now I suppose.” Hermione laughed, covering her mistake. “Sorry, It’s still new.”

“I can tell,” Sora responded. “You don’t wear rings.”

“Er… no,” Charlie responded. “It’s not safe with our work and-”

“You don’t need to posture in front of me,” Sora said. “The metal rations have hit everyone and such a luxury like wedding rings can wait until this war is over and done with. Do you need help packing up?”

Hermione stopped listening at the mention of war. She could have sworn that, as Charlie and Sora continued to speak, her heart had stopped in her chest. The pockets of Death Eaters were few and far between but… this was something else. Even with how slow news travelled in Romania the official end of the war was three years ago. 

“Hermione you okay?” Charlie asked lowly as they folded up the tent, shoving it into her bag. 

“War? As in actively happening war?”

“Not sure. From what I gather we’re going back to their camp.”

“This is… military right?” Hermione asked. “Is the British military involved in Romania? I thought the auror force made up most of our defense. The UK hasn’t had a standing army in… I don’t know, ages.”

“I don’t know Hermione. We’ve somehow talked our way into the middle of something and we have to figure out what’s going on as soon as possible.” Charlie brushed his hand through his hair, scowling at the ash that pulled away. “Could go for a shower as well…”

Before Hermione could respond Sora appeared behind them, snapping his pocket watch closed. 

“Let’s get you two lovebirds back to camp. As soon as you get settled we have some dragons that need to be seen and patched up if you can...maybe even that Ironbelly if he came back. I have no clue what sort of shape he’s in now.” 

Hermione smiled indulgently at the eager look on Charlie's face. When Sora held out his arm she took it, Charlie placing his own on the younger man’s shoulder. There was a twisting, pulling sensation as the world around her shifted. Thanks to years of Charlie’s side-alongs she landed gracefully.

Hermione inhaled sharply at the perfectly even tents lining the pathway. All around them men completed maintenance work or blasted at targets facing the wood. There was laughing and swearing and they all wore that same deep blue uniform. And there, dead center of the camp was a highly distinct egg shaped lake, nestled between two familiar mountains. The only thing missing was the towering façade of the Roost on the horizon.

While she and Charlie were gaping after reaching the same conclusion Sora turned back to them with a broad smile.

“The thirteenth magical battalion welcomes you to the Eastern Front.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gasp! Time hints. 
> 
> Granted I didn't make it very hard and you can google it to figure out where/when they are. Or you can wait until the next chapter. Your choice.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long one, also... TIME REVEAL! Merry Christmas!

“There is your homeland’s contingent. Over that way is the Romanian sector. We’re next to the Americans and things get loud when the men drink. We’ve got some French and Russians around here somewhere.” Sora continued the tour around the camp. There were approximately one hundred or so tents lining the field but it was still the largest group of magically trained fighters Hermione had ever seen. Even the battle of Hogwarts only had around one hundred and fifty fighters for the side of light. Out of them, she and Harry had trained seventy in the DA and maybe twenty adults had some sort of out-of-class training.

“The nearest muggle settlement is approximately 300 kilometers due West. We have set up muggle-repelling charms but if you happen to be seen obiliviation is a requirement.”

“Isn’t that a bit much?” Hermione asked. “If we aren’t doing magic-”

“The muggles think this battle field doesn’t exist. They are content to wage war elsewhere, which suits us just fine.” He eyed Hermione suspiciously. “If they know we are here they could try to interfere. If the muggles get involved, the incidental casualties would be astronomical. Dragons are known for their destructive powers not their precision.”

“And the locals?” Charlie asked, diverting Merago’s attention.

“Know to stay far away from this stretch of woods. There are a few hundred-year-old myths about it being cursed so they are only too glad to agree. Ah, here is the infirmary where you’ll be working, Mistress Weasley.”

Hermione coughed awkwardly at Sora’s statement. It didn’t help that Charlie was smiling like a loon. 

“Please,” she begged. “You don’t need to be so formal.”

“Of course Mrs. Wealsey,” Sora responded, completely oblivious to the glare she threw Charlie. “Now over here is the firewood.”

It appeared the main part of camp was very similar to the set up used by the Romanian Reserve. They were currently rounding the hospital, one of the few brick and mortar buildings since they arrived. 

“And over here is where you will be staying in the family quarters.”

“What about the dragons?” Charlie asked.

“We’ll head there next if you would like to set up your tent-”

“Shouldn’t we be closer to them, considering I am the only Dragon Master in camp?” Charlie asked. “What if something happens in the middle of the night?”

“I… what?” Sora’s was looking at them with the strangest look on his face. Hermione knew that he would likely be reporting anything suspicious to the Commander. Keeping that in mind she spoke next.

“It’s quite standard for Dragon Master’s to be closer to his subjects for… emergency response. Like if there is an accidental fire to be contained. Or a fight to be broken up.”

“Well, that makes sense,” Sora agreed. “But it’s awfully far from the mess hall. Wouldn’t you rather be closer to the other women and-”

“We do a lot of cooking in our tent. I also find people tend not to like the fumes coming from my lab… unless you have a place to set me up?”

“Well if you insist. Personally I think the dragon’s could stand more attention but nobody seems to care about my opinion on the matter…” The young clerk trailed off with flushing cheeks. Hermione smiled indulgently, knowing the feeling of sticking her foot in her mouth.

“Perfect, shall we head over?” Charlie asked, smiling broadly. He was suddenly all business and the satisfaction in his gaze made Hermione sigh happily. It was truly magic to see someone love something as much as Charlie loved his job.

“Of course. It is a bit of a walk to the other side of the lake. Apparition would be best.”

Hermione held out her arm and the three of them disappeared with a pop.

Hermione gaped at the dragons in the field before them. She put out an arm holding back Charlie just as she felt his magic ripple in pure rage around them.

“What in the _fuck_ is this?” Charlie hissed, his eyes burning.

“The… dragon pens Master Weasley,” Sora said quietly. He was ringing his hands in a meek manner but Hermione could hear the bit of sadness that slipped into his tone.

Hermione’s heart ached looking at the miserable creatures before them. Each dragon was staked to the ground by a lead attached to the collar on its neck. Many of them had worn a circle into the grass around their stake by pacing. A particularly anxious Opaleye was flaming at the sky above him, the flames barely making it five feet before expanding outward into a clearly containing bubble. Some of the dragons looked fine but a large majority of those that were resting looked ill or injured, with dull scales and dazed eyes.

Charlie shook her off, stomping towards the nearest enclosure with his wand out. Hermione pulled Sora along when it was clear he wouldn't be moving on his own.

“Are you drugging them?” Hermione asked, trying to get him to focus. “We will need a catalogue of all the care you’ve been giving them and diets. Charlie is going to be making changes right away that will improve their health and temperaments immediately but we will need to know what you have been doing long term.”

“O-of course..." Sora frowned as they passed a particularly sad looking Chinese Fireball. He glanced at Hermione with guarded eyes and a small, almost hopeful voice. "Can you really help them?"

"Can and will, Mr. Merago. But I will need that information."

"I'll get it for you immediately." Sora nodded, looking resolute. "I can- What is he doing?” 

Hermione turned back to see Charlie shaking out his shoulders before stepping into the protective circle of the nearest pen. It contained a small Welsh Green that had an assortment of debris sticking out of its wing membrane. The creature was shivering in pain and blood oozed slowly down her body.

“Being an idiot,” she sighed before taking off after him. Hermione came to a stop just short of the bubble, speaking in a low tone. “Charlie. I know you want to fix them all right now but-”

“Stay quiet and calm Hermione,” Charlie said in an even voice, his eyes not leaving the half-asleep dragon in front of him. “This pretty girl right here is in a lot of pain. Your poor wing hurts doesn’t it, sweet girl? Such a shame since you look so awfully lovely. Why don’t you let me take a look at that, hm?”

“Charlie,” Hermione whispered in exasperation. Still she stepped inside the bubble, her eyes trained on the Welsh Green in front of her.

“That’s such a good girl,” Charlie crooned, circling the injured beast slowly. Hermione knew that the dragon was in nearly dead-territory when it didn’t even try to shift its head to follow him. “Let me take a look at this nasty old wound, huh? Aw that’s going to need some help won’t it dear. Don’t worry, I’ll help you.”

Charlie carefully made his way over to the wing and Hermione did the same. The debris appeared to be a variety of wood shards, likely from some sort of crash. The blood rich membrane of her wing was still leaking a foul-smelling mix of blood and pus, signaling infection. Without another word, Hermione pulled out the dragon-altered potions she had made for the Reserve and slid on her gloves. A bottle of cleaning potion and pain relief potion were set down by Charlie. He nodded to her as she pulled out a vial of sleeping draught and cautiously made her way to the front.

“Hey...um… sweet thing,” Hermione said and Charlie rolled his eyes at her. She was never good at this part. Dragons liked smooth steady voices and she couldn’t carry on like Charlie did about how pretty they were. However, she did have one other option. “Did you know the process for brewing sleeping potions for dragons is very similar to humans? It is, you just need to add the monkhood chopped instead of crushed and…”

She continued on with her lecture that seemed to work on everything from Teddy to Harry and Ron when it came to getting them to sleep. Charlie had jokingly called it a super power and she stopped being offended by that the first time she was the only one who could convince Teddy to quiet at a holiday dinner.

The dragon’s eye tracked her movement without really seeing. She rested her hand on its smooth neck, trailing up the scales so the female would know where she was. Just as Hermione reached the dragon’s head Hermione's eyes flicked up. Outside of the wards stood a very upset-looking Commander Higgs, a curious Sora and at least another dozen workers all watching them with a variety of expressions. 

Refocusing on her tasks she took a deep breath for the most dangerous part.

“I know you’re all sorts of bothered right now but if you didn’t bite me. I would deeply appreciate it.” 

She knew the dragon couldn't understand her but whether it was her voice or if the poor creature was just too tired to react, she didn’t so much as twitch when Hermione levitated its jaw open with her wand. She uncorked the vial and inserted her arm into the gaping mouth. She hovered over the gap between the dragon’s blood-rich tongue and teeth before taking a deep breath. They only had one chance to get this right.

She winced as a drop of salvia landed on her glove. In one swift movement she dumped the entirety of the vial and ripped her hand back, just as the foul tasting potion hit the dragon’s tongue. 

The Welsh Green snapped her mouth shut instantly, breaking Hermione’s charm and tugging its head away swiftly. Hermione waited, not daring to raise her wand, less the creature think her an enemy. When the female’s eyes began to close completely Hermione finally allowed herself a breath.

“Hey there girl, I wasn’t done,” Hermione said a bit louder, sneaking towards the creature's ear hole. “Are you asleep? You’re awful sick for a dose that big so I expect-” 

Hermione took a deep breath before slapping her open palm against the dragon’s cheek. She kept back on instinct… only to be met by Charlie's laugh when the female didn't so much as flinch. It was standard procedure and her potions always worked but it scared the living daylights out of her every time.

“She’s down. Let’s get started,” Charlie directed, holding out his hand. Hermione rolled her eyes but handed him her gloves without hesitation, resizing them to fit him. The splinters coated in blood and infection would eat through his skin in minutes. 

Charlie took point, leaving her to hover behind him casting charms to clear away the discharge. 

“Ready?” Charlie asked as he took ahold of the largest, most infected shard. Hermione nodded, throwing up her strongest fire protection spell. If the dragon woke up now, flames were the preferable outcome. They stood no chance against her teeth or claws should she get physical.

“Right. One, two, three!” Hermione’s heart jumped as he yanked out the blood soaked wood. They both flinched when a muscle in the female’s wing shifted but she remained otherwise mercilessly asleep.

“Alright, let’s get going then.”

Charlie spent the next hour or so extracting as many splinters as he could and draining the wounds of infection. Once they had stopped weeping blood Hermione applied her cleansing and pain potions. She stepped back, checking on the dragon while he pulled out his healing kit. It wasn’t half of what they needed, only meant for emergency treatment in the field but it would have to do. The acromantula silk would flex and shift with the wing membrane if they did this right but Hermione really wished they had a way to secure the females wing to her body so she didn’t try to over exert herself.

Looking around the worn circle of the stake, Hermione bitterly realized that would not be a problem. There was barely enough room for her to even open her wings, let alone flap them. While she waited she turned over what she knew in her mind. 

Judging by the sheer amount of dragons in piss poor condition and the fact they were standing where the Reserve’s bathhouse used to be it was fair to assume that this was not her and Charlie's world. Sora had stuck to them like glue and thus far she hadn’t had any time to sort out where in the hell they were or what had happened to the Dragon Reserve. Perhaps it was an alternative timeline where the Order didn’t win and war still raged. But that didn’t explain why the Reserve still had dragons or where- 

The Welsh Green’s eye cracked open.

“Charlie,” Hermione said blandly, not letting her fear leak into her voice. “This pretty girl is awake. Why don’t we just give her some time to rest, hm?”

She had already started moving by the time she finished his name. Charlie was still stubbornly tying off the last stitch while she pulled the female's attention by charming a glowing yellow orb in front of her. The female blinked, likely feeling better and more dangerous already. She was focusing on the ball of light just as Charlie pulled the last tie tight. The stich pulled at the still inflamed skin, drawing a violent growl from the dragon.

Hermione dove to the ground to dodge the female's head as she twisted around to glare at Charlie. Charlie was already scrambling back to the wards when the Welsh Green started to flame. Hermione threw her strongest fire proofing charm at the red-head just before rolling out of the wards herself, the dragon’s flame bouncing off of the protective bubble where she had just stood.

Gentle hands hooked under her arms, helping her up. She glanced up to find Sora staring at her in abject wonder.

“Weasley! What in the bloody hell was that?” Hermione shook her head, realizing that the Commander was addressing her.

“Charlie!” she shouted, ignoring the Commander. 

“Fine!” Came the returning shout. She heard his careful soothing sounds from outside of the barrier as he tried to talk the female down.

“That Commander,” Hermione responded, shaking off Sora and brushing the dirt from her already filthy robes. “Was how you save a dragon.”

The Commander snarled then went back to watching Charlie from the other side of the bubble as the female slowly calmed. By the time she had stopped flaming the rest of the workers were whispering amongst themselves and Sora was quickly scratching at his paper. Likely a report of some kind. They hadn’t even been here a day and were now likely to get kicked out. Bloody brilliant.

“She’s gonna be fine!” Charlie said as he walked over. The ends of his hair were singed but he was otherwise unharmed. As a matter of fact he had that certain glow of happiness around him that he always got after dealing with a particularly difficult dragon.

“Are your wits addled man?!?” The Commander shouted. “What were you and your crazy broad thinking? That overgrown lizard nearly roasted you.”

“That _magnificent_ beast was nearly dead of infection and in insurmountable pain,” Charlie shouted back. Sora blanched and pulled her back a few feet. More than accustomed to a Weasley rant she just sighed and settled in, preparing for the fireworks.

“Don’t you talk back to me boy! I will have you stripped of your rank so quickly it’ll make your head spin.”

“I don’t give a shit!” Charlie gestured around him. “This is un-fucking-acceptable! Who in the hell has been taking care of these dragons? I swear to Merlin-”

“Watch who you’re threatening, Weasley. This is my base and an attack on any of my men is an attack on me.”

“I play with dragons for a living,” Charlie snarled, not even drawing his wand. “I welcome the challenge.”

"Careful boy," Higgs growled back, pushing up his own sleeves. While Hermione could back Charlie for almost any fight something about the Commander had that touch of danger that made it hard to discount him, even at his age.

"I am not a boy and I am here to do a job," Charlie gestured sharply behind him. "I will be cleaning up this mess and you will damn well let me do it."

SSora was silent beside her and most of the workers didn’t seem much better. Both Charlie and Higgs were bright red in the face, their anger nearly palatable. Hermione held her breath as the Commander stepped forward.

“Well Weasley… you better live up to that statement.” The Commander relaxed and rolled his shoulders. “I won’t have liars in my camp.”

Sora slumped beside her, releasing his grip on her shoulder. She stumbled over to Charlie’s side, pulling out a weak burn healing potion for the red spots on his neck.

“You’ll keep them alive?” Higgs asked.

“I’ll do more than that,” Charlie scoffed. “I’ll keep them happy and healthy.”

“I don’t care about happy... You aren’t getting any more workers,” the Commander groused. “I can’t spare the men to get roasted just because you’ve gone round the twist.”

“Don’t need them. There’s gonna be a lot of changes around here.”

“Don’t ask me for money or supplies and I don’t care what you do. Just have them ready to fly when I call for them. Merago!” Sora appeared behind the commander. “I want a report on this on my desk by the end of the night. Get whoever is in charge of this hell hole and have him report to Master Weasley, then kick him the fuck out of his office.”

“Yes sir,” Sora responded.

“I expect great things of you, Weasley." Higgs shot him an appraising look. "Don’t disappoint me.”

Hermione barely had time to react to the quick crack of his apparition before Charlie was off to another nearby pen. Hermione sighed and pulled Sora along by his arm. They were going to be here until sundown and, contrary to what Charlie thought, they would need all the help they could get.

  
  


000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

“Set up your tent anywhere over here,” Sora said, stepping away from the couple. He looked exhausted and lightly toasted but the broad smile cracked across his face was unmistakable. After the fourth pen he had stopped shaking and by the eighth he was helping them as naturally as if he had been born there. He looked at Charlie like the man was a God, absorbing the information Charlie spouted with awe and fascination. “I’ll be back tomorrow morning to get you settled at the infirmary Mistress Weasley. Then... Maybe I can slip by after my clerical work to help out again Master Weasley.”

“Call me Charlie, please. I’d love the help if you have the time. There’s more than enough work to be done and not enough competent workers.”

“Of course Master Weasley. I’ll come by before breakfast.” 

The weedy clerk was gone with a quick crack leaving Hermione and Charlie to make camp. It was mere seconds after Hermione had placed the privacy wards when Charlie burst out laughing.

“Mistress Weasley are you?” Charlie laughed. Hermione glared at him and started setting up the tent. “Tell me, how absolutely pissed was I at our wedding that I don’t remember it?”

“Oh yes, because I am such a dog that you’d have to be drunk to marry me.”

“Oh come on, Hermione. You know I don’t mean it like that.”

“Of course you don’t," she said the tent unfolding itself with ease. “But if you had a better idea for how not to get blasted into the forest floor I would love to hear it _Master Weasley._ ”

She smiled softly when he grimaced at the title. Unfortunately his face quickly warped into that sly confident smile he usually got before saying something outrageous. As expected he quickly strode over quickly trailing his fingers down her spine until she shivered.

“Keep calling me ‘Master’ and they’re going to get ideas.”

“Oh shut up!” Hermione threw her hand back, missing as he jumped away with a lazy grin.

“Well we are apparently married,” Charlie teased. “I’d hate to deny my wife her needs.”

“I’d argue otherwise but you didn’t even have the decency to get me a ring,” Hermione scoffed, wiggling her fingers at him. Charlie set about making tea while she set up her potion’s lab on the dining room table.

When she was done she sat on the couch while Charlie brought over their cups.

“Sorry,” he muttered, handing off the cup. “The tea I found was stale but… better than nothing.”

Hermione grimaced, wishing she had thought to stuff some coffee in her bag. Or had actually opened up the tent at any point in the past couple of years and sorted it. Their lives would be much easier if she had stocked it with food and preservation charms. Hermione could barely choke down the gruel in the Reserve mess hall. She didn’t want to think about what a military camp had to offer...which brought back the thoughts she had been fighting off all day.

“So it’s war then?” Hermione asked while sipping at the terrible tea and pulling her knees up onto the couch. Charlie was an excellent cook but even he couldn’t do anything for this dreak other than make it drinkable… barely. Or perhaps that was the fear that made everything bitter, slowly been simmering under her consciousness at the idea.

“Apparently.”

“Am I right in thinking that this camp is currently standing where the main office of the Dragon Reserve used to be?” Hermione asked.

“It’s no guarantee. With how big Romania is there are no doubt similar spots but…" Charlie frowned into his own cup. "I’d say yes.”

“You seem rather calm about this,” Hermione said. "I am quietly freaking out even though I have a experience being dropped into life altering situations at random intervals."

“Eh, I had some time to work it out on the walk over. Personally I have decided that you somehow snuck me one of those Daydream Fancies the twins always go on about and I am just riding it out.”

“Why on earth would this be your daydream Charlie?” 

“I’m waiting for you to tell me that you’ve always loved a man in uniform and start stripping off your clothes.”

Hermione snorted. Charlie has always been the calmest of the Weasley clan. Of course he still got riled up about those he cared about and his dragons, but most everything else rolled off his back like water. He was unshakeable when the rest of the world was falling apart. It was something Hermione deeply admired about him. In the face of certain doom his inner strength stood strong, sheltering her when she needed it without a second thought or single judgement.

“Alright. So hallucinations aside, let’s look at this logically. There have been absolutely no hints of any conflicts by the Reserve?”

“We are the conflicts,” Charlie responded lounging next to her and talking up more than his fair share of the couch with his massive body. His legs pushed against her knees as he sprawled, shoving them up against her body. She hated when he did that. Rather than curl up tighter like she used to she scowled and stretched out her legs, slinging her ankles over his thighs. He rested his hand on her calves, drumming his fingers as he thought. “Poachers versus the Reserve, that’s it. Even during the height of the war there weren’t any camps like this. Attacks were quick and vicious with the battlefields always on the move.”

“Nothing about a military camp in the Reserve’s history?”

“I don’t think…" Charlie trailed off, glancing back at her. "History? You think we’re in the past?”

“I think we managed to trip over into a different timeline. It’s not unheard of in places with heavy magical concentration but is very rare, the last one was in the Black Forest in 1783. It's not... it's not common to be thrown back this far though," Hermione mumbled. She left the 'and very _very_ bad 'off the statement. "I supposed we could be dead as well, although Harry told me the in between looks like Kings Cross so I doubt that.” Hermione gave up on the tea and leaned back into the uncomfortable arm of the couch, wincing when she recognized the spot on the ceiling where Ron had thrown her last inkwell in a fight. Ron left the next day and the patch never got cleaned.

“That would explain the patronus. Jean never had children or siblings so I don’t see why there would be another Merago floating about,” Charlie said, swirling his cup. “Got an idea as to when?”

“No, and assuming we are in the past we have to try to figure out when before we oust ourselves."

"Bad things happen to wizards who mess with time?" Charlie asked in amusement. 

"I wish I had never told you about that." Hermione grumbled.

"You tell me a lot of things you shouldn't," Charlie smiled. "Anyway, how do we avoid breaking the timeline?"

"Thankfully we can’t mess up too much with our existence since our family lines are both in England.”

"Alright, so don't go to England to check in on great-grandmum. Other than that, we're safe?"

“If only. We still have to be dreadfully careful,” Hermione hummed in response. “If we do anything to throw off the timeline, like save the Iron-bellys the Romanian Reserve may never exist. Without the Reserve we would have never been thrown back and the time loop would close, trapping us here. Or at least that’s the theory. Very few witches and wizards had ever gone more than a few days back. The Mintumble disaster resulted in her death along with dozens of other wizards being wiped from existence. If we do anything out of character for the time we could start a domino effect that could result in disastrous consequences for the rest of the world.”

“We’ve already affected things though,” Charlie countered. “I am pretty sure the actual Dragon expert they sent for is dead but what if he shows up?”

“We will have to cross that bridge when we come to it. It isn’t that changes to the timeline can’t be made. I have managed it before myself when we freed Sirius. It’s just that those changes can’t be notable within themselves. For example you _could_ in theory save the Iron-bellys by porting them to a self-sustaining island hidden from human and wizarding eyes for the next however many years until we get back. At that point we could go to the island and release them all to repopulate as long as everything had remained exactly the same to the public eye up to the moment we left.”

“Okay so how do we get the island?” Charlie asked, his eyes sparking.

“Charlie,” Hermione groaned, rubbing her hand down her face. “That was just an example. We don’t have the time or resources to manage it, even if we could without getting found out.”

Hermione risked a glance at Charlie. He looked tired and pale, having spent all day trying to heal the creatures he so loved that were so horribly mistreated. Then she went and presented him with a hypothetical way to save them before crushing his hope completely. She really needed to think more before she spoke.

“Do you know anything about the Eastern Front?” Hermione asked. “I don’t remember any wars happening in Romania from my muggle lessons but if there were dragon’s involved I doubt it ever graced the pages of muggle history books.”

“Asking the wrong wizard Hermione.”

They sat in silence, even as she set up her potions station and started brewing. They had used almost her entire specialty stock today and were dreadfully low on cleansing and sleeping potions. Charlie set about gathering things for the camp, and helping make the tent more livable again.

Hermione turned over the question of 'when?' in her mind while she brewed. She had every intention of looking for the date on whatever bureaucratic papers she could find but Charlie pretty well ripped that chance away by dragging them through the pens. The dragons were in awful shape. None of them had enough space and almost all were either mysteriously injured or sick. The one in the best shape was the Iron-belly that returned halfway through the day, landing stoically in his pen until a handler latched his collar to the stake before falling asleep.

“Charlie?” she asked after he reappeared from the mess hall with a late dinner. It tasted like cardboard. “When did the Ukrainian Iron-belly’s population drop?”

“1953,” Charlie responded, instantly cleaning up their plates and getting ready for bed. “Their numbers had been on the decline for years but it wasn’t until the ICW officially declared them endangered that the rest of the world knew how bad it had gotten.”

“Do we know what culled the numbers?” Hermione questioned, trying to link what she knew was happening now with what they knew would happen.

Charlie paused the sound of dishes. After a moment she pushed up from the couch. His back was facing her but she could see where his hands were gripping the counter until his knuckles turned white.

“Charlie?” Hermione asked moving slowly to press a hand against his back. “Are you-”

“War… their home habitat and numbers were decimated by the Global Wizarding War.”

“I can’t… When was it roughly?” Hermione encouraged. “I don’t recall anything about it.”

“Sure you do Hermione,” he said turning to her with horror tinged eyes. “The muggles were fighting the other side of it at the same time.”

Hermione didn’t need to think any longer. Blood rushed from her face as her brain flicked through the muggle conflicts they learned about in her primary school. The battle of Aimes had already happened, there were active metal rations, the Global wizarding war had not yet ended. Right this very moment death and the poisonous ideals that would start two more wars in the next century were spreading across Europe like an infectious disease. She looked at Charlie, trying not to shake as she spoke.

“The Second World War.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It feels sort of clunky. If anyone knows why, please... let me know


	5. Chapter 5

There wasn’t much talking after that realization. It had already been sundown by the time they ate and there was not much motivation for anything other than sleep.

Hermione was laying in her bed turning over her thoughts. The light by Charlie had flickered out minutes ago. 

War. It wasn’t something she ever wanted to live through again. She had just managed to funnel her life back into some semblance of normal and now… now she was dropped into one of the greatest human conflicts of all time. Her last class on the topic had been when she was ten but even with the toned down details the history was horrific. 

Hermione swallowed deeply. The holocaust was probably happening right now. Depending on the year people would be pulled from their homes and moved to ramshackle ghettos where they were forced to stay in too close quarters... that is if the camps haven’t already begun. London could be under air-raid watch, the bunker they visited in that field trip probably in use. Death would be everywhere, muggles, wizards and even the magical sentient creatures caught in the middle. And she could do nothing to stop it.

Even if she weren't a world away and ported to London right now to start an underground empire to extract the people of Poland and arrange transport for refugees, the impact on the future would be drastic. She wasn’t lying when she told Charlie they couldn’t meddle but now she was eating her words.

She had only been able to save Sirius and Buckbeak because there weren’t a lot of variables to cover between the few hours they were gone. But now, being so far back, she had no possible way to predict what effect her actions would have on the future or the war. One of her Grandfathers met her Grandmother in the Red Cross tents in Normandy. What if she saved the man that her Grandmother had once loved and so she never left him, resulting in her family being wiped off the face of the earth? How would Harry manage to defeat Voldemort without her? Would Harry even exist? 

Hermione tossed and turned trying to will herself to sleep. But her memory plagued her. The muggle-born registration committee, the obsession with heritage, the fear of a name. All of it had already happened and she was going to have to relive _ her _ war for a second time without being able to stop it.

Giving up she pulled out her vial of dreamless sleep. There were only a few drops left and she never packed more than one at a time due to the addictive nature of the potion. Still she tipped the last dredges of the potion into her mouth and let the immediate draw of sleep overcome her, praying she could at least catch a few hours.

000000000000000000

_ Fear. Blood. Green. Screaming. Red. Pain. _

“Hermione!” 

Hermione surged up from her bed, smacking into a strong, warm chest. Her heart raced and her eyes darted around the room in a panic, looking for any escape from the mad cackling that still raced through her mind. She tried to push up but arms clamped tightly around her shoulders holding her in place. Trapping her.

She screamed again, her voice already raw. 

“Hermione. It’s me, Charlie. You’re awake now.” The words barely touched her brain before bouncing away. She whined when something clamped around her jaw forcing her head to turn upwards. “Look at me, love.”

Red, Weasley red. And the warm hazel of Molly’s eyes with the soothing smile of Arthur. Safety, home. Charlie.

Hermione gasped, her brain finally pulling itself from her nightmare. She didn’t try to hold back the pained sob that was ripped from her throat. The second his arms released her she threw herself against his chest with enough power to knock them backwards if he hadn’t been bracing for it.

“Shhh, it’s okay, Love. I’m right here. It was just a dream.” She cried against Charlie’s chest, her terrified tears ruining his shirt as he comforted her. She clutched blindly at his shoulders and hair to keep her limbs from shaking as he guided them back down onto the too small cot, humming words of comforting nonsense. Her laid against his heart while he waited for her to calm.

As it always did her body slowed to match his, ever calm and predictable like the still waters of a lake. Her breathing evened out and he panic subsided, focusing on the small movements his fingers drew along her back. Soon the tent was silent except for the echo if his heartbeat against her ear.

“Welcome back, Love.” Charlie’s voice was warm and wrapped her in such a steady comfort that she felt all lingering fear leave her. 

“Thanks.” 

She didn’t apologize anymore. He told her he hated it after the first time and that it made him feel like she did something wrong. Instead she just curled tighter against his stocky frame, letting the warmth of his body sink against hers.

“That was a bad one,” Charlie mumbled softly. “Not that surprising considering the circumstances.”

“Is it nearly morning?” Hermione asked, not wanting to open her eyes.

“No,” Charlie responded after casting a tempus charm. “It’s eleven. We’ve been out for barely an hour.”

“Damn it,” Hermione swore. When she looked up at his face his eyes were closed and his face was schooled into a mask of relaxation. 

“You still need sleep. I’ll get started on some potions and-”

“No it’s fine,” Charlie responded, releasing the hand holding her hip in place to run it through his hair with a grimace. “We both need to shower anyway. I am sure the bathhouse will be almost empty by now. Just let me know when you’re ready.”

Hermione remained against him for a few more minutes, letting the almost hypnotic sounds of his body lure her back to calm. When she was almost asleep she jerked back to consciousness, feeling him do the same beneath her.

“Sorry about that,” Hermione yawned, pulling herself up. “I didn’t mean to nod off on you.”

“Would that have been so awful? We need the sleep apparently.” Charlie laughed and climbed out of bed. “Come on, let’s go get cleaned up.”

He held out his hand and Hermione took it even though she didn’t need the assistance. His fingers all but encapsulated her in the warm and calloused skin. By the time they stepped outside with her bag in hand he didn’t need to grab her for the apparition. 

They landed with a quiet crack in the center of camp. The temporary tent making up the bathhouse was leaking steam and lit from within. Charlie dropped her hand and gestured toward the nearest flap with ‘WOMEN’ painted on the sign above it.

“Sorry, Love. I know you are constantly trying to slip a peek at me but rules are rules.”

“Please,” Hermione said, slipping back into their usual roles. “You are a voyeur. I wouldn’t need to slip anything. I could just ask to see you and you would drop your trousers right in front of me.”

“Well if you insist!” Charlie responded, pulling at the tie holding up his leather pants. Hermione yelped and dove for the flap. The first time she had called his bluff on that particular joke he didn’t back down and she couldn’t look at him for three days. 

Charlie’s laugh bounded through the crack behind her. “I’ll be waiting out here when you’re done.”

Hermione grumbled even as she removed her clothes. While the tent may be a temporary shelter the household charms put in place were amazing. She stripped off her dirty, ash-stained clothes and tucked them into a cubby. Almost immediately a laundry charm began to spin them, filling the cubby with soapy water that quickly turned grey. Her boots meanwhile, were floated away from the bench to a polishing station where a brush set about tackling the nooks and crannies. Molly would be seething in jealousy. 

Hermione wrapped herself in one of the cheap cotton towels stacked by the door and pushed into the inner chamber. 

As it turns out, Charlie was wrong. The baths were filled with a dozen or so women, chattering and helping each other with their hair. A long pool had been dug out on one half of the room and was filled with steaming water. On the half closest to her were benches and tiled squares with raised edges. Hermione jumped as one of them women pulled at a chain on the wall and a wooden ramp appeared above her, spraying out water with ease.

“New to the camp then?” Hermione turned toward the dark-eyed witch standing in front of her. Her black hair fell down her back like pin straight silk and she seemed wholly unashamed of her nakedness as she rested her arm on her hip. Her short stature was not to be underestimated judging from the clearly toned muscles of her legs and arms. Her skin was a warm olive, tanned even deeper by her time in the sun.

“Er, yes,” Hermione managed, noticing the way the women fell silent around them to listen. 

“Healer?”

“Potion’s Mistress actually,” Hermione responded, trying not to feel judged. Which would have been much easier if she weren't naked and didn't look like she had fallen head first into a floo.

“Ah, you’re the one who came with the dragon man. Akechta Ebbenflow, I go by Ake. He’s going to help those poor creatures?” 

“Hermione Gr- er… Weasley.” Hermione held out her hand. “And yes,  _ we  _ are.” 

“I’d rather not,” Ake said with a grimace, stepping back slightly. “Not to be rude but you are filthy.”

Hermione followed her gaze down to the uncovered ‘mudblood’ scar on her arm. She scowled immediately stepping back and tucking her arm tightly against her back.

“Is there a problem?” Hermione growled.

“Yes,” Ake said, stepping forward without fear. “You are covered and soot and smell like a dead animal. You need to rinse off before getting in the soaking tub. Come on.”

Hermione’s refusal was cut off when the other witch grabbed her wrist and hauled her towards one of the squares. The other women started up their hushed conversations again and Hermione was confident that she was the topic.

“You ever use one of these?” Ake asked.

“I can’t say that I have.” 

“It’s easy enough. There is a vanishing charm on the floor. Just pull the rope for water and scrub. Pull the second one for water with soap. Now drop the towel.”

Hermione frowned, glancing over her shoulder at her audience.

“You Brits are so damn proper,” Ake sighed. “You don’t have anything I don’t. Move it.”

Hermione could read the challenge in the words and squared her shoulder before primly dropping her towel and folding it before setting it on the floor beside her. As expected the room was silent again, or at least it was until Ake released her own low whistle. 

“Damn,” Ake circled her, her eyes flickering across Hermione’s war-torn skin. “You’re a bit young to be that marked up aren’t you?”

“I wear my scars with pride,” Hermione responded defensively, pulling on the shower rope. There was brief clanking before warm water rolled softly over her shoulder.

“As you should, sister. As you should.” 

Hermione sighed as she worked, her skin finally feeling like it could breathe as the soot washed away, the water running down her legs changing from gray to clear. By the time she kicked on the soap her arms were tired from the scrubbing and her hair was only half done.

“Come on,” Ake said, cutting off the water. “I’ll give you a hand with those knots.”

Hermione hesitantly followed the woman to a bench, her hair still a mass of bubbles and tangles. Ake shooed the nearby women away before standing behind Hermione and threading her hands into her hair. Hermione had years of people attempting to wash and brush her hair. It always hurt when they got caught on knots and pulled or when they tried to convince it to do something that it did not want to do. But she was far too tired to fight it.

Hermione sighed as the woman worked her way from the scalp down, skipping over tangles and weaving her fingers in and out of the strands. To say it was relaxing would be an understatement. Ake seemed to slowly tease out the knots as she went, next pulling on Hermione's scalp or snapping the strands by force.

“You’re good at that,” Hermione hummed diplomatically. 

“I have many sisters. We all learn to help each other,” Ake responded. 

“I appreciate it.” 

“I appreciate having someone who isn’t a Healer around.”

Hermione noted the angry glares directed their way. 

“Don’t mind them,” Ake continued. “They all group together and gossip. Most of the women in camp are Healers and they have nothing better to do but move their mouths.”

“Should you be-”

“They already hate me.”

“Perhaps because you are so cutting,” Hermione suggested drily.

“My mouth has nothing to do with it. They hate who I am and my skill, you can’t discount one with the presence of the other. I’m sure they’ll hate you too for not being one of them. Lean back.” 

“Healing is a respectable position,” Hermione defended. “They save lives.”

“Not these lot,” Ake snorted. “They would make the Healers I know shutter. No, most of the women here are trained in emergency first aid then smacked with the title of Healer and shipped out.”

“Watch it Ebbenflow,” a woman groused from nearby.

“Or what?” Ake snapped back. “What will you do about it?”

The woman scoffed and said something to the person next to her before laughing. Hermione had the distinct feeling of being back in school.

“So what is it you do?” Hermione asked, feeling the flow of magic slowly untangling her curls behind her.

“As I said, Weather Witch.” 

“Um,” Hermione blushed. She hated not knowing things.

“Right right. You Brit’s don’t know what that is. I’m surprised any of you know magic with how far from the earth you all are. Turn.”

Hermione turned, containing her gasp as the woman behind her seamlessly wove a complex detangling charm through her hair with just her hands. There was no wand in sight as she worked.

“I can control and predict the weather, not unlike your Seers.”

“Divination is a load,” Hermione scoffed out of habit.

“That’s what I say. The spirits may grace you with a dream here or there but you can’t go looking for it. But what I do isn’t Divination. It’s more of reading the sky, it’s not uncommon in the old world. Go rinse.”

Hermione begrudging stepped back into the shower and doused herself in warm water. As expected her hair felt lighter already but to her utter shock when she cast a drying charm they ringlets were almost silky. Still wildly out of control and springing everywhere but almost smooth enough to shine. Ake came up and clicked her tongue.

“They were supposed to be smoother. Your hair is abnormally resistant to magic.” 

“Tell me about it. I’m surprised you got this far,” Hermione grumbled, eyeing the soaking tub. She knew Charlie would be waiting for her though. “I should get back.”

“I’m sure you have much to do,” Ake responded evenly. Her eyes locked back on Hermione’s forearm but this time Hermione didn’t shift away. Instead she held out her arm for inspection, watching the woman trace her fingers over the raised tissue.

“It’s cursed.”

“Yes.” 

“A very dark one.” Ake clicked her tongue again. “What does it mean?”

“That I’m a survivor,” Hermione responded sharply.

“Hm, so you are. Rest well little Mistress. I’ll see you around camp.”

Hermione watched Ake walk away, her hair swinging against her back as she moved. The other women openly scowled at her but still moved from her path before she settled alone at one end of the soaking bath. Hermione allowed one last longing look at the tub before returning to the changing room. She quickly pulled on her clean clothes and boots before stepping outside.

Hermione was met by a painfully familiar scene of Charlie lounging on a stump surrounded by women. Hermione smiled, recognizing the story he was telling as the time he and Marcey had snuck a dragon’s egg out of Albania by stuffing it under her shirt and pretending she was pregnant.

As expected, the story resulted in an uproarious wave of laughter. It was that moment that Charlie noticed her and jumped up from his seat.

“There is my lovely wife.” Charlie skipped over, tugging lightly on his favorite curl at the base of her neck. At least there would be no one else in  _ this _ camp suggesting she get her Dragon's Braid other than Charlie. “You did something with your hair, it’s nice.”

“Thank you,” Hermione responded, ignoring all the envious glares sent her way. Some things never change.

“I can’t wait to ruin it,” Charlie purred, running his hand down her neck until she shivered. She cleared her throat, trying to shake off the blush that had formed on her cheeks.

“Ready to head back?”

“Mmmm, how could I say no to you?” Charlie asked, snaking his arm around her waist. He tugged her along as they apparated back to their campground and stepped inside.

“Was that really necessary?” she groused as she stomped back toward the tent.

“I mean we are a couple,” Charlie laughed following her in. “It’s expected.”

“Maybe we are in a sexless marriage.”

“Not if you’re married to me you aren’t.” Charlie winked even as he readied himself for bed. “I have a reputation to maintain.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and charmed the sheets clean. She settled back into bed with a sigh almost all memory of her nightmare chased away. Her eyes grew heavy with the weight of the day. It was only going to get worse as well.

“Hermione?” Charlie’s voice came from his side of the tent, cautious and serious.

“Yeah?”

“You going to be okay tonight?” he asked.

She inhaled sharply before answering.

“Yeah, fine,” she responded. “Thanks Charlie.”

“Alright then, night.”

“Night!”

When she put up silencing charms around her cot she only felt the smallest bit of guilt for lying. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big honking chapter today.
> 
> It feels a bit off to me but I swear it's the last one that does so. Enjoy.
> 
> P.S. I am working with Amebb42 (author of Less than Pure) to co-write a longgggg one shot charmione! If you are desperately waiting for the smut, that may hold you over so keep an eye out!

The next morning she woke exhausted. She easily beat Charlie awake by her fourth nightmare. She set about getting breakfast sorted just before dawn and he appeared moments later looking well-rested. He caught sight of the dark circles under her eyes almost instantly.

“Shite, Hermione. You didn’t sleep at all did you?”

“Some,” Hermione lied. “I couldn’t get comfortable and-”

He placed a hand on her shoulder, forcing her to look at him.

“Don’t lie to me.”

Hermione sighed, scooping the fried eggs from the pan.

“It was just a few.”

“A few?” Charlie scowled. “Why didn’t you wake me? For that matter why didn’t I hear...”

Hermione flinched as he trailed off. She could feel his glare even as she poured just the right amount of milk in his tea and slid it over to him on the counter.

“You put up a silencing spell.”

“You needed sleep,” Hermione countered, preparing her own tea. She’ll have to try to find some coffee in the camp later. The Americans probably had some.

“So did you! Why didn’t-”

“Charlie,” Hermione sighed. “You are about to work with fire-breathing man-killers. One slip up from exhaustion and you’ll be roasted alive. You can’t afford to come comfort me every few hours just because of a few nightmares.”

“I damn well think that’s my choice don’t you?” Charlie snapped. 

“Well, judging from the fact the  _ I  _ was the one who cast the silencing spell, I think it was mine. Feel free to correct me if I’m wrong.” Hermione snarled hotly. The lack of sleep was wearing on her on the pack of her night of dreamless sleep. She didn’t mean to snip at him but he was just so-

“Considering the fact you’re adding salt to your tea, it’s a fair bet to say that you  _ are  _ wrong.”

The tension hung in the air awkwardly. Rather than admit defeat Hermione brought the tea up to her lips. She sipped delicately, the foul sea water setting her hair on ends. Charlie scoffed as she took another. Before Hermione was forced to admit her mistake or vomit, there was a crack just outside of the camp.

“Erm… Masters Weasley? Are you there?” Sora called from beyond the ward line.

Hermione sighed in relief as Charlie scowled, the fighting being tabled for now.

“This conversation isn’t over,” he said just before she left the tent. Hermione walked out of the ward line, appearing just next to Sora suddenly.

“Merlin!” he shouted, his hand dropping to his hip. “I almost hexed you!”

“Not like that you wouldn’t have,” Hermione corrected. “If you move to draw you always should complete it. Even if it’s an accident, it is no more insulting to have a wand pointed at you than it is to see someone going for it anyway. You should always follow through in the event that you’re wrong.”

“Er… thanks I suppose,” Sora responded, watching her cautiously. “Are you ready to go?” 

“Yes,” Hermione responded, patting the bag looped around her neck. “If you are?” 

Sora nodded and held out his arm. With a quick snap he apparated them to the infirmary, their feet landing on the cheap tiling. Hermione released his arm after a moment, glancing around to find that they had ported directly inside of the hospital wing.

“Will I be added to the wards?” Hermione asked.

“What wards?”

“You don’t have anti-apparition wards up?” Hermione asked, taking in the mostly empty beds and the Healers moving about.

“No?” Sore responded. “Why would we?”

Hermione blinked at the young wizard in shock.

“Because as it stands the enemy could apparate directly into camp if they had a spy.”

“I suppose...” Sora agreed, suddenly looking much more uncomfortable. “But that is true all over camp. How would we get the injured here in the case of emergency?”

“Just give them something that the wards and they can keep on them at all times. Like a necklace, or a pin, or a feather...” Sora looked at her blankly. She sighed, hoping that personalized protective wards had already been invented at this point in time. “I’ll write up a report for you to take to Commander Higgs tonight.”

“I didn’t know you could do all that with wards,” Sora said. “I thought you were a Potion’s Mistress.”

“Charlie’s brother is a Curse Breaker,” Hermione responded, keeping closer to the truth made it easier to lie. “He’s better at ripping them down but to learn how to do that he needed to understand how they worked. He’s lent me quite a few books over the years.”

“Ah, so you knew each other a long time before getting married?”

“Er, yes. I went to school with Charlie’s younger brother,” Hermione said awkwardly. Sora was nice but he asked far too many questions for her liking.

“That explains why you fight like an old married couple,” he laughed. “Though the talk around camp is you still behave like newly-weds.”

“I didn’t know soldiers were such gossips,” Hermione said tartly. “Where is the potion’s cabinet?”

“I’ll show you!” Sora responded setting off across the floor a leisurely pace. “And when there isn’t much else to do around here there is nothing to do  _ but  _ gossip.”

“People could just talk, or read, or learn a new skill.”

“Most people don’t read much out of school,” Sora responded off-handedly.

“And that such a pity,” Hermione said automatically. “Reading is not limited to classwork and Hogwarts. There aee pleasantly of leisure and professional books that-”

“Hogwarts? Is that where you attended school?”

“Er, yes,” Hermione answered awkwardly.

“Funny, you aren’t that much older than me and I don’t remember you being there.”

Hermione’s back went up instantly as he pulled open the door to the store closet.

“I-I thought you were Romanian.”

“I am. But my mother moved back for my schooling.” He smirked motioning toward the closet. “Something the matter?”

“Let me guess,” Hermione breathed, preparing to palm her wand. “You were a Slytherin.”

“Right in one,” Sora pushed her forward and shut the door behind him. Her wand was at his throat, the incantation for memory modification on the tip of her tongue. He batted it away confidently, rolling his eyes. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic.”

“This is highly inappropriate,” Hermione started, taking on her best Prefect voice. He leaned back against the door with a scoff, forcing her to step back or touch him.

“So is lying about your credentials.”

“W-what?!?”

“Drop the innocent act... Though you are a terrible liar. ” Sora cocked his head to the side. “Who are you?”

“What do you mean?” Hermione said. “You’ve seen the reports. We’re-”

“I  _ did _ see the reports. Including the one where it was very clear that the Dragon Specialist’s body was recovered a few days ago and he most certainly didn’t have a wife.”

Hermione blanched. “But you told the Commander-”

“I tell the Commander a lot of things,” Sora smirked. Well it was good to see  _ that _ never changed regardless of the Slytherin. She still worked with Draco Malfoy on occasion so she had grown used to their negotiation tactics. She could still salvage this.

Leaning back against the pitifully empty shelves of the closest she regarded the non-descript boy in front of her. Young, very young. Thin and meek looking, but his eyes tracking her with a suddenly sharp intelligence. 

He had clearly maneuvered himself to a place of higher authority while lacking the titles to identify him as anyone of note. He had the Commander's trust and dismissal at the same time, allowing him control the reports flittering across the elder man’s desk. One word from him and her and Charlie would have been blasted into the forest floor, but he held his tongue. Waiting for… something.

He had noticed there was something off about her and Charlie before they had even realized it themselves. Rather than dismiss or act on this suspicion he waited until he had her alone to accuse her.  _ Why? _

“What’s your goal, Merago?”

“Ah, back to last names are we?” he responded. “What makes you think I have a goal?”

“You didn’t out us,” Hermione said. “I’ve never known a Slytherin to do anything for altruistic reasons. So clearly you need something.”

“You aren’t even going to try to deny it?”

“Is there a point?” Hermione snarled. Sora smiled.

“You are hiding something... You never did say why your patronus came to me.” 

“I don’t know to be honest,” Hermione smiled sweetly, the truth protecting her.

“ _ That _ is why I didn’t out you. The patronus is an old, rarely used spell to ward off dark magic. It’s said it can only be cast by those with good intentions,” he ran his eyes over her dismissively. “And the enemy usually avoids sending correspondence to the wrong camp.”

“If it’s so rare why do you know about it?” Hermione snapped.

“Old family stories,” Sora responded smugly. “My line supposedly extended from Illyus the Pure and I recognized it immediately. You just had the misfortune to send it as I was sitting in the mess hall. Now, who is Jean Merago?”

“What makes you think-”

“I could always just pass that report of the dead Dragon Specialist to the Commander as well.”

Bugger. She grit her teeth but sighed.

“Jean Merago is Charlie's boss.”

“Who works for...”

“A dragon reserve,” Hermione stated vaguely. She found herself more than a bit surprised when Sora’s eyes lit up instantly, though his face was still schooled into a cool mask of indifference. “You can understand the confusion.”

“What on earth is that? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“I’m sure you haven’t,” Hermione responded slowly. “It’s… a new project. The dragon population is falling drastically and… Jean, Charlie and some other like-minded people are kicking around the idea of sectioning off some land and caring for dragons who are too injured or old to roam free.”

The lie rolled easily off her tongue. Mostly because it wasn’t a lie. That was exactly how the Romanian Reserve came into existence. It was clear that it just hadn’t happened yet.

“Like a farm? For dragon parts?” he asked coldly.

“No!” Hermione hissed. That was the last idea she wanted to plant in the past. “Not at all. More like… well a muggle zoo but with more natural conditions. No cages or collars. Just free flying dragons and hand reared eggs when they are abandoned.” 

“You can hatch an egg by hand?” Sora asked brightly. He was practically vibrating with excitement and it cooled Hermione's fear immediately.

“It’s difficult but possible… Charlie had done quite a few...”

“Then how did you end up here?” 

“It was…” Hermione tried to sort out her phrasing for it. “We aren’t sure. There was an outburst of magic and when we landed we were in a burned out field.”

“The no-man zone,” Sora supplied. “It’s the area we burn out to keep the Axis on their side.”

“In any event we took off when the,” Hermione swallowed, realizing who the attackers were. “Axis wizards started cursing at us. By the time you found us we weren’t sure what was going on.”

“Well where were you before?

“Budapest,” Hermione answered quickly. It was a large enough magical center that no one could correct her but still within feasible travelling distance. “There was a storm and then… well we woke up here.”

“I see…” Sora regarded her for a moment. “The summer storms have been known to kick up excess magic from the ley lines...”

Thank Merlin the absolutely unpredictable, insanity that was magic. That explanation would never work on a muggle.

“Then you’ll let us go?” Hermione asked hopefully. 

“No, of course not. The dragons are in awful shape. I doubt Master Weasley could even bear to leave them like this.”

“And you know him so well,” Hermione scoffed, mostly because she knew he was right.

“Hard to miss that look in his eye. I thought he was going to strangle Officer Wan when he threw the man out of his own office.”

“You seem to care quite a bit for the dragons for someone who let a stranger take over their care.”

Sora frowned, his lip twitching up.

“I like dragons. They’re...”

Hermione caught the almost dreamy look in his eye and slowly slid her wand back up her sleeve. 

“Magnificent? Beautiful? Wonderful?”

“And more,” Sora responded tersely. “And they weren’t getting the care they needed. It had taken months for me to find that Dragon Specialist and would take even longer to find another. When a second had plopped himself in my lap what was I supposed to do? Say no?”

“We could have been lying,” Hermione responded.

“Not with that sort of gear,” he nodded towards Hermione’s gloves and dragon leather pants. “The only people who splurge on dragon leather _ and _ would rough it in the woods are those who work closely enough with the creatures to need it. I’ve seen the after effects of what happened to the dragons from the last muggle war. I won’t let it happen again.” His eyes darkened. “Or at least I tried not to.”

“They’re in… rough shape,” Hermione said honestly. She was instantly flooded with guilt, when his eyes filled with sadness. 

“I’m just a Clerk,” Sora stated coldly. Silence hung in the air, the sounds of the infirmary leaking through the door. When the tension got to be too much Hermione broke.

“So… do I need to stun you and run?”

“No,” Sora responded pushing off the shelves with a sigh. He dragged his hand down his face and glared at her suspiciously. “But I still don’t trust you.”

“I’m not sure what I can say to make you believe me,” she said finally. Sora tensed, his hand twitching toward his wand. “But, I can promise that we are on the side of the dragons.”

Sora stared at her, attempting to suss out the truth after a minute he sighed. 

“I think I believe you.” 

Hermione breathed in relief. “Thank-”

“Don’t thank me.” Sora added coldly, his eyes drilling into her. “I’m still watching you. If you put the smallest toe out of line to hurt our cause or the dragons, I will not hesitate to ‘find’ that report and throw you to the wolves. Agreed?”

“Begrudgingly,” Hermione grumbled.

“Wonderful.” He straightened and looked at the empty shelves around them. “You are a Potioneer at least aren’t you?”

“Absolutely,” Hermione huffed, sticking her nose in the air. “I got my mastery at age twenty-one.”

“Fine, take a look at what needs to be restocked then we’ll check on the dragons. It’ll be good to see how your husband is handling their care,” Sora smirked. “For your sake it better be ‘well’.”

“Oh, he will be,” Hermione bristled. “But that has nothing to do with you.”

Hermione cautiously took inventory of the shelves. Sora didn’t let her leave his sight but soon she was more focused on the piss-poor conditions of the stock. No blood replenishing, pain, or burn potions at all. The skele-gro smelled old and weak. The draught of the living death likely caused actual death. Honestly she would be brewing for days, maybe weeks before she caught up.

“Who makes your potions?” she questioned in exasperation, shrinking the list with a charm as they stepped out of the closest. “It’s a miracle that none of the Healers have killed anyone yet.”

“And you’re so helpful are you?” Hermione turned her attention to the collection of Healers glaring at her a few feet away. Oops.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Hermione tried to correct. “I’m just saying-”

“That you think you’re better than us.” The woman speaking was blond with big barrel curls that were perfectly coiffed and fell down her shoulders prettily. Her accent gave her away as American. “You think you’re something special? What a joke.”

“Not at all,” Hermione said, glancing at Sora for help. Much to her chagrin he had morphed back into the weedy youth and was watching the confrontation warily. Hermione glared viciously at him before turning back to the women with her hands up.

“I was just saying how these potions-”

“Are useless,” the blonde finished. “Our thoughts exactly. We may not have ‘years’ of training in our field but we are at least more useful than you. Go tinker in your lab little witch while we  _ actually _ get something done.”

Oh, that rankled.

Hermione huffed indignantly, stomping over to the nearest patient. The man’s arm was tightly wrapped in bandages and he groaned in pain. Hermione wasted no time waving her wand over the gauze and undoing it. He whimpered beneath her, all but delirious.

“What do you think you’re-”

Hermione threw up a bubble barrier without looking, hearing the tell tale pounding of someone knocking against it. She focused on the wound, hissing in distaste when she saw the bright red and peeling skin. Dragonfire burns were nasty and particularly resistant to magical healing. 

However, Charlie’s research team on the Dragon Reserve had made a very useful burn potion by mixing the usual base with some of the Reserve’s resident’s saliva. The injury reacted to the proteins in the saliva, soothing the burn like a mother dragon lapping at a hatchling.

Without much preamble Hermione summoned one of the many bottles she kept in her bag and dumped it on his skin, watching it smoke and hiss as the burn slowly faded, leaving the newly-healed, bright-pink skin. She also withdrew a mild restorative draught and held it to the man’s lips as she helped him drink. Moments later he was sitting up with a scowl.

“Hell’s bells! That tastes awful.”

Hermione smiled at the very Ron reaction. 

“Potions always do,” Hermione responded, dropping the bubble. “How are you feeling?”

“Not too bad... Just dandy actually-”

Hermione was forcibly pulled around by the shoulder, spinning as she came face to face with the blonde.

“What in the  _ hell _ did you do to my patient?” she hissed.

“Healed him,” Hermione responded smugly, watching Sora smirk in the background. “Sorry, I thought that was the goal. Or were you wanting him to suffer? Because you were doing a damn good job of that.”

The witch scowled at her, stomping toward the man and gingerly taking his arm. She ran her wand over it casting a variety of diagnostic charms before grimacing. Hermione was only to pick out one before she was lost in the complex charms. 

The blonde sat down and continued to ask the man questions, even as he was already trying to get himself out of bed. Eventually she stomped over, her eyes narrowed.

“What did you-”

“A modified burn healing potion. Dragonfire is resistant to the usual stuff. A restorative draught to get him back on his feet. Though a good night's sleep would do him better, but I can’t bottle that.”

The woman scowled but seemingly swallowed her pride through gritted teeth.

“May… may we have some more?”

“Of course,” Hermione responded. Part of her wanted to ask if the Healer still thought she was useless but she elected not to for the sake of peace.

Personal feelings aside she would still be polite to the Healers, even if they couldn’t be civil. They would be working closely and the better they got along the more lives saved. With little preamble, she withdrew the emergency potion’s cabinet from her bag, much to the astonishment of the surrounding Healers. It was small, barely one foot by two, but it’s still impressive to see it come out of the tiny coin purse.

She opened the cabinet containing all of her basic to life potions, withdrawing a few that she always needed to keep on hand and some for Charlie who would likely come back to the tent beat up tonight.

“Take a look at these. They’re all labeled with what they do and how they should be used. Get back to me with what we will need the most of first, and I will start brewing them. Sooner rather than later please, some take quite a while and this personal stock won't last long.”

Some of the Healers headed over to the cabinet, excitedly chattering over things as they pulled them out. One or two snatched a few selections and scurried over to the other occupied beds.

“T-thank you,” the blonde added tersely. “ _ Mistress _ Weasley. I will get that list to you soon.”

“Of course. I will provide a more detailed write up on each potion and the best way to use them later this week. If you would like more training for them.”

“That would be quite helpful,” the Healer ground out.

“Wonderful. Send the note to Sora, he’ll get it to my husband and I.”

Hermione turned and strode towards the door, not wanting the Healers to see her smug smile. She may have to work with them but that didn’t mean she couldn’t be proud of her own creations. Just as they exited the infirmary Hermione let out a low laugh. Honestly it felt so satisfying to be able to just use her intellect to silence someone. It felt like she was back in school but instead of being hurt by Parkinson's cruel jeers she just flashed her order of Merlin and flounced away. What a rush!

“You were definitely a Gryffindor,” Sora said from where he leaned against the wall. “No nuance. Just bulldozing through everything.”

“Thanks for the help,” she scoffed. 

“I keep my head down.” Sora responded casually. “Ready to go back?”

“Er, I suppose,” Hermione said softly. She knew Charlie would still be mad at her but she needed to start collecting some dragon-sourced ingredients anyway. If she was lucky she could be in and out before he even noticed her.

Sora held out his arm and disappeared with a crack. Hermione stumbled slightly, a result of her too-tired brain. She was caught by strong, familiar arms which at any other time would be welcomed.

“Sora. Hermione,” Charlie said, maneuvering her to a stand. She avoided his gaze while he filled in Sora on some of the dragons. As they spoke Hermione watched the Slytherin. Gone was was calculating snake she met in the potion’s closest. In his place was a motivated, passionate youth who seemed to have more regard for the dragons' than his job. It was almost enough to make her forgive him.

“And the Opaleye in the back-”

A missive interrupted Charlies report, poking at Sora until the Clerk snatched it from the air and opened it. He groaned deeply.

“Another worthless meeting,” he said. “Do I really need to be there for every blasted one?”

“Well you are a Clerk,” Charlie responded jovially. “It’s technically your job.”

“I’ll switch you,” Sora scowled when Charlie laughed before turning to Hermione. “Will you need anything else Mistress Weasley?”

“No,” Hermione said softly. “I should be able to start brewing as soon as I get back to the tent.”

“Right then,” Sora said, already stepping back. Right before he left he leveled her with a serious look. “Remember what we talked about. I keep my promises.”

The crack made Hermione jump. Still she sighed, wanting nothing more than to escape the awkward tension in the air that was growing rapidly with each second she remained. Not even a worker was floating around to break the silence. She took one step toward the tent before Charlie stepped in front of her.

“We have a conversation to finish,” he growled, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“I know. But please Charlie, let’s do this later,” Hermione sighed. “I need to get started on some desperately needed potions for the Infirmary and you have some Dragons that need saving. Can you save yelling at me until we are too shattered to move?”

Hermione gathered her hair up as Charlie regarded her. She could tell he was sizing her up, trying to figure out if he could pick his fight or if it wasn’t worth it. He sighed, running his hand through his hair. She was safe, for now.

“Fine. Do you have any-”

Without any future prompting Hermione withdrew her entire dragon’s potion stock, stored in a heavy chest. Charlie walked over and tucked it under an arm with ease. 

“I’m going to need more cauldrons at this rate. Use those sparingly while I work on the human stock. We’re on thin enough ice with Higgs and I have a feeling his priorities are a bit different that we had on the Reserve. I can’t start on the dragons’ for at least a few days. Do you think you could collect some-”

She was cut off when Charlie withdrew three shrunken vials from his pocket. He waved his wand over them and they grew to full size. Hermione observed the ingredients in the bottles. Dragon saliva, blood, and claw filings. As usual he had been collecting them, even though he had been angry with her.

“Charlie-”

“Don’t. I’m still angry at you,” he responded gruffly, shoving his wand back up his sleeve and readjusting the bulky chest. “We’ll talk later. Right now, we both have work to do.”

With that he walked away. Hermione pushed away the shred of guilt she felt as she shrunk the vials back down and slipped them in her pockets. She was making her way back toward the tent when she passed some Healers, ogling the workers from a bench on what must have been their lunch break.

“Ooo, trouble in paradise?” one witch taunted. “And so early. How unfortunate.”

“What did I ever do to you?” Hermione snapped.

“What have you ever done at all really? You act so much better than the rest of us when you clearly can’t please your husband, and have never seen a brush. Why is a man like that even with you?”

“Pity, obviously,” the other one tittered.

Hermione didn’t even dignify that with a response and kept walking. Or she would have if the other hadn’t continued.

“With so many more… desirable witches around, he may find you aren’t worth the trouble.” 

That made Hermione’s blood burn. One of Slytherin’s favored public taunts was about how ‘undesirable’ she was, far before attraction was even a consideration. It wasn’t a direct enough statement against her blood to rile the teachers but still dug under her skin like a leech. Add to the fact that these women seemed to think Charlie was so- so…. so simple-minded that he could be swayed by such horrid women. It was insulting to his character! 

“I beg you to try,” Hermione scoffed, glaring at the pair. “But even if you were the last witches on earth, Charlie would still elect to spend his whole life living out with the dragons than spend ten minutes with either of you.”

Hermione harrumphed, turning on heel with her nose in the air. She ignored the catty whispers behind feeling proud of herself for standing up to them. By the time she had made it back to the tent she was scowling at her childishness. She was playing into their petty games when she couldn’t afford a misstep. She would be working with these women and so far she had already shown up or offended almost all of them.

With a groan she wandered over to her potion’s lab in the dining area. She had a lot of brewing and not enough time to handle any of this. As she usually did when life got too complicated she immersed herself in brewing and chopping until there was enough haze in the air she could imagine that she was home.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmmm? Fluff? We like fluff.

“Merlin Hermione! Are you trying to make poison gas in here?” Charlie's voice cut through her counting as she stirred. It was only from the years of practice that she was able to maintain the rotation without a misstep. 

“Sorry, I didn’t even notice.” Hermione withdrew the stirring stick on the count of fifty. Not three seconds later the blood replenishing potion dipped from a hot pink to a deep garnet. She smiled at the success and placed it’s lid back on tightly. “You can air it out now! We’re stable.”

She heard Charlie swearing as he opened the tent flap and began directing the air out. Hermione turned to her other two cauldrons filled with finished pain potions and skele-gro. She drew her wand and began to dose the pain potion into vials. By the time the rest of the tent was visible again Charlie had joined her and began dosing the Skele-grow next to her. They worked in silence, filling the vials until they were all capped then set about labeling them in her usual manner.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered after awhile. Unable to look at his tight scrawl any longer while guilt curled in her stomach. “I just didn’t want you getting hurt on accident because you were trying to take care of me.”

“Love that’s-”

“I know. But Charlie,” she responded, turning to look at his baleful blue eyes. They weren’t filled with anger, or god forbid pity. But they did sparkle with hurt and just a hair of understanding. “We are in a stressful situation with no end date. At best if we mess this up we get thrown into the wilds of Romania to live out the rest of our days away from the world. At worse we accidentally end up ruining the future past the position of recovery. You deal with deadly, injured creatures all day. You don’t need to deal with my problems because I can’t handle them on my own.”

“You are so foolish, Love,” Charlie hummed as he pulled her against his chest. “Don’t you understand you’re just as hurt as those dragons out there? And you would never ask me to turn away from them would you?”

“Charlie it’s not the same,” she sighed.

“You’re right.” Charlie nodded sagely. “You are much more deadly.”

She couldn’t help the giggle that escaped her lips and tried to muffle it in his chest. She could just pick up the smell of earth and fresh air cleaning to his skin under the layer of soap from his shower. There was no small amount of envy that she smelled like toad oil and rat spleens.

“No silencing spell tonight okay, Love? If you wake me up then I am up. It’s no trouble.”

Hermione sighed and stood, drifting over the blood replenishing potion. 

“Well you won’t have to worry about that tonight. I have to watch this and stir it at 2:43 am so I won’t be sleeping much at all.”

“Blood replenishing?” Charlie asked hovering over the potion. It didn’t surprise Hermione at all. The second she had started to make dragon specific potions Charlie could frequently be found in her lab, watching her work. Even if he still complained about the smell.

“Yes. I wasn’t kidding when I said that the Infirmary was in a dreadful state. I’ll be brewing for the next few days straight. I should actually start on the-”

“Dinner,” Charlie responded, nudging her away from her work table. “You should start with dinner. The fire and organs will still be here when you get back Hermione.”

“But I-”

“Plus you stink.” 

Hermione’s mouth clamped shut as she glared at the grinning redhead. 

“You are so rude.”

“Don’t tell mum,” Charlie said. “She’d skin me alive.”

“Well you do need a haircut,” Hermione quipped, enjoying the afforded look on his face.

“Well, in spite of that cruel and, dare I say,  _ rude _ comment, I will deliver these potions to the infirmary while you get cleaned up. Some of the other workers say the best time for privacy while showering is during dinner. Then I think we should put in appearance at the mess hall. I already skipped lunch and I am guessing by this mess that you have as well.”

“You know nothing about me Charlie Weasley,” Hermione chided.

“Nutrition potions don’t count.”

Hermione faltered and scowled before giving in. She gathered up the potions into a basket and floated them over to the smirking redhead.

“You know too much about me Charlie Weasley,” she grumbled good-naturedly. He laughed and she felt the last of the guilt over her nightmares slip away.

She apparated to the bathhouse and was pleased to indeed find it empty while she quickly cleaned herself. She glanced longingly at the soaking tub but knew Charlie was waiting. She found him outside, waiting on that same stump but with no audience this time. He stood with a smile, staring at her hair.

“No fancy curls this time?” he asked.

“Sorry,” Hermione responded. “ This is the best I’ve got. Be glad there aren’t slug guts in them.”

Charlie grimaced the whole way to the dining hall. Still by the time they arrived most of the tables had finished and were in the process of clearing out. Charlie had led her to an empty table and they were both more than ready to consume the trays of food that appeared in front of them, in spite of its grey appearance.

They spared no time for conversation as they choked down the bland calories that would have made Molly cry. Charlie barely flinched when Sora set his tray down to his left. Hermione meanwhile frowned deeply at the younger wizards, not forgetting his earlier deception.

“Hello, Lovebirds.”

“Hello, Sora,” Hermione sniffed, pausing her meal. “If that is your real name.”

“Must you be so dramatic,” Sora scoffed.

“I think it’s the potion fumes,” Charlie responded with a chuckle. “Gets her all riled up.”

“Charlie!” Hermione hissed, glaring at Sora. “We can’t trust him. He lied to us.”

“Did I?” Sora questioned, frowning at his… soup(?) before selecting a roll instead. “Or did you just assume I was some meek bookish clerk who couldn’t think for himself?”

Hermione said nothing and chose to return to her meal.

“That’s what I thought. Don’t feel too bad though, everyone thinks that way and I want them to. It means they are less likely yo notice the manipulation.”

“Such a good Slytherin, aren't you?” Hermione spat.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Sora smirked before turning to Charlie. “How did the Fireball turn out? Did he pull through the night?”

Hermione picked at her food, listening to the men wax eloquent about dragons. To his credit, while he may be a conniving and somewhat clever liar, Sora did truly seem to care about the dragons. 

“Why aren’t you working as a Handler instead of a clerk Sora?” Hermione asked. “You seem more knowledgeable than half the twits out there if those conditions were any judge.”

Sora frowned deeply, glazing around them. The movement was far too reminiscent of her years at Hogwarts so Hermione threw up a practiced muffalito with ease. “Silencing spell.”

“Ah, good,” Sora responded. “I am a Clerk because Clerks can be assigned to the ranks as soon as they are of age. Dragon handlers require a NEWT in magical creatures and I did not want to wait that long.”

“You didn’t graduate?!?” Hermione gasped, her hand flying to her mouth in horror.

“If I waited until then the war might be over and then where would I be,” Sora scoffed. “Getting placed here was as easy as speaking English as well as my mother tongue. I just kept my mouth shut during placement interviews and listed here as my preference. Commander Higgs likes quiet people who get the job done. Besides, if I hadn’t been a Clerk you two would have never made it into the camp and then what would have happened to the dragons?”

“What’s all this about then?” Charlie responded cautiously. 

While Sora filled him in on his little ploy, Hermione finished off her meal, glad to have already cleaned herself up. She was exhausted and if she escaped to the tent immediately she may be able to nap a bit before she had to stir her potion.

It was only a few moments later when Hermione caught Ake’s gaze as she exited the hall. The witch nodded at her and smiled before flouncing out of the hall, no doubt to terrorize the Healers in the bath. She was so abrasive, if she were just nicer- then again if Hermione had been nicer... 

Hermione thought back to the bathhouse when she first arrived. Even then the other women glared at her, and she hadn’t even given them a reason yet. Ake had said that it was because they were specialists but…

“Sora,” Hermione interrupted the conversation that had moved on to egg hatching. Sora had conjured some parchment and was scratching down every word Charlie said.

“What?”

“What’s a Weather Witch?” 

Charlie blinked for a moment then turned to the other man, clearly interested as well. Sora sighed, laying down his quill on the table, long since empty of their trays.

“You’ve been talking to Ebbenflow haven’t you?”

“I ran into her in the bath last night. Is she… bad?”

“No,” Sora said immediately then seemed to second guess himself. “Well… she's not… lady like.” 

“She most certainly is not that,” Hermione agreed.

“You’re one to talk.” Charlie smirked when Hermione glared at him.

“But she’s damn good at her job. She predicts the weather for attacks, letting us know what we will be working with and when to call it off. The summer storms around here get bad and she had probably saved more lives than she gets credit for…”

“But?” Charlie led.

“But she’s also a terror when unleashed,” Sora finished his eyes darting around the empty hall. “She doesn’t get to go to the field much anymore. She was present for the aftermath of a slaughter of a local village and well...she summoned a blizzard in the middle of summer and dropped enough snow on the Axis troops that they froze to death. It took three days to thaw them out.”

“Oh,” Hermione said. That certainly explained why she was somewhat feared but not why she was so un-liked.

“That’s amazing!” Charlie said. “I had no idea magic could even do that.”

“She doesn’t use a wand,” Hermione said, glancing at Sora for confirmation.

“No she doesn’t. She… she’s from some place in America. Her people and their magic are very old. They predate wands and it...it scares people.”

“She seems perfectly…” Hermione struggled for a word. “Tolerable. Not friendly, but the healers all glare at her and I don’t understand why. They glare at me too.”

“Don’t listen to the healers,” Sora responded with an eye roll. “They hate every woman who’s not wearing those pale green robes. Damn vipers chased off our last cook with their cattiness. She and her husband were like the two of you and when it got too much they got up and left sticking us with whatever we ate tonight. I’m not sure it counts as food to be honest," she scowled. "But at least you two don’t get half as graphic as those two did. Merlin, that forty year old woman did not need to be my exposure to the finer points of the female body.”

Charlie took that moment to wink at her before laughing uproariously. She scowled and kicked him under the table which just broke up the laughter with swears until even Sora was laughing along with them.

0000000000000000000000

When Hermione and Charlie returned to their tent they were feeling full and exhausted. Charlie had spent the entire day stabilizing the last of the dragons and was starting to work on expanding their enclosures next to her.

“And here I think if we use the ‘Ro’ sigil-”

“Don’t use ‘Ro’, Hermione corrected with a yawn. She leaned forward from the couch taking his quill to scratch out his symbol. “Use Gamma, otherwise you’ll lock the Handlers out too.”

“I have no idea how I would survive without you Hermione.” Charlie graced her with a wide smile as she yawned again. “Tired?”

“More than.” 

“Well come here then.” Charlie pulled her shoulder and she was too tired to fight it by the time she landed gently in his lap.

“Charlie. My potion,” she whined. “I need to set an alarm.”

“I’ve got it, I’ve got it.” Charlie cast a spell to alert them at the right time, even as her eyes started to drift shut. “Get some sleep, Love. I’ll wake you when it’s time.”

“Just a-” Hermione paused to yawn. “Quick nap.”

She burrowed tightly into his thigh, the hard muscle relaxed enough to make a decently comfortable but firm pillow. Charlie hummed, placing his hand on her shoulder while continuing to scratch on the parchment floating in front of him. She could just glimpse the way his lips quirked up before her eyes drifted shut.

“Sure thing Hermione.”

00000000000000000000000

She was warm. The bed was too hard and seemed to move but it was comfortable. Except for that damn bell. 

Her bed shifted and she groaned as she felt herself lifted. Had she fallen asleep in the lab again? Charlie always hated when she did that. It was only fair because she hated how he always would carry her upstairs.

She grumbled as she was placed back on a scratchy couch.

“Shhh, it’s fine Love. I’ve got it. Go back to sleep.”

She mumbled a noise of assent intending to do just that. Just to be sure she cracked one eye open only to be greeted by the sight of Charlie slowly stirring her cauldron. His strong arms moved in a measured grace as he stared at the surface of the potion watching for the viscosity change. He had helped her make this hundreds of times before so she was less than worried. Instead she watched him, admiring the sharp cut of his jaw and the way the firelight flickered off his long hair until it looked just as much a part of the flames as not. His shoulders were broad and strong, and when he pulled up an arm to yawn she could just make out the shadow of muscle on his stomach before his shirt fell back.

Hermione shut her eyes, grateful to return to the slumber of the dead. In her sleep-addled state, she hoped he would come back. The nightmares stayed away and he felt so very nice against her cheek.

Yes, Charlie Weasley was an attractive man. But she’d never tell him that. He already had a big enough ego as it was.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here I am, writing about dragons and inventing things to be wrong with them... does that make me cruel or creative?

Hermione woke with a crick in her neck and an incredibly warm body next to hers. She rose to familiar earth tinted eyes blinking down at her with a smug expression on his face.

“Did I chase away the nightmares, Honey?” 

“Oh screw you,” Hermione grumbled, spotting the cauldron. She shot up mid panic at the idea of ruining that whole batch when Charlie’s arm hooked around her waist, drawing her back against his chest. She fell with an ‘oof’, scrambling weakly against his arm.

“Charlie! My potion!”

“Calm down, I took care of it last night. Merlin knows I’ve seen you stir a damn pot enough times to be able to manage it,” Charlie yawned, tucking his face back into her neck. “Now, be a dear and keep blocking out the light for me.”

Hermione felt his lips pull into a smile against the skin of her neck. She shivered when his hand tightened on her lower back. Pulling her closer to him.

“Charlie.”

“Yes, Sugar Plum.”

“Call me something cute one more time and see what happens,” Hermione snipped.

“We are supposed to be married. I figured we should sell it.”

“And disgusting pet names are the way to go are they?” Hermione scoffed.

“Well, a love bite would work too.”

Before she could react Charlie leaned forward to nip harshly at her neck.

“Ow!” 

Hermione pushed against his chest firmly. Unfortunately, without his arms holding her up, the action sent her tumbling to the floor. Her hand shot to her neck as he laughed at her in that warming, booming laugh that she only ever associated with comfort and joy. She couldn’t help the smile that crept onto her face, or the weak blush peppering her cheeks. Even decades away from their own time, he still made anywhere feel like home.

When Ron and Harry started families right after the war Hermione had never felt so lonely. The boys bonded over their new lives filled with wives and nappies leaving her with nothing to contribute tot he conversation. It seemed like the two had so quickly become fathers that they forgot to be anything else. Rather than pretend she understood she threw herself into her work. She happily sacrificed the dinners filled with conversations of baby stories and wedding woes and slow sank into herself more and more. 

It was only when Charlie reached out to her about a potion for a nesting mother that she felt that she that closeness again. It was only when she shipped off his potion (with a requested report on the results) that she felt driven to another person out side of her own head again. He of course sent back a highly detailed report that kept her busy until the legendary Dragon’s Blood argument at Christmas.

After that night, under the guise of correcting a wrong, her letters to Charlie started to come more frequently and more familiarly. Requests about her research were the main topic, but every letter also started with an inquiry toward her. Her health, her cat, her hobbies, her current reading material. Every letter ended with an update on his own life or humorous stories about what the dragons did that day that always had her in stitches, laughing like a maniac in her lab.

Finally she was able to feel like she had someone that wanted to know how she was. Who didn’t let her fall by the wayside (rightfully so) to their spouse or children. Eventually, her rift with the boys healed as their children aged to a point where they didn’t need constant care and the men could be humans again. But she would never forget that, when she was alone, it was Charlie who wanted to talk about dragons, or house elves, or merfolk or any topic she wanted really. 

He was the one who asked her about her work and nagged her through letters when she didn’t get enough sleep and her handwriting started to get sloppy. He was the one she sent the patronus too when Crookshanks died and even being a continent away he was the first to step into her living room when she collapsed into tears. 

As time wore on and everyone else paired off Hermione remained publicly single. It was something no one had expected and frequently confused the rest of the Weasley clan. But nonetheless, Hermione never felt the need for any other relationship past a physical one. No one else would understand the pull of her work, or the desire to create. She refused to ever be merely tolerated. If she was ever with anyone, it would be someone who stood by her side and pushed her forward, not someone who simply watched her work. Until the day that mystery man appeared, she was perfectly happy with her Romanian Dragon Master and his letters, that grew into visits, that grew into the most looked forward part of her year. 

“That better not leave a mark,” Hermione grumbled when his laughter finally died down. 

“Better if it does,” Charlie responded, wiggling his eyebrows. “Couldn’t have all the boys in camp taking notice of what a fine witch you are. I’d never recover if they stole my lovely wife.”

“You’re going to make me regret that for the rest of my life aren’t you.”

“Of course.” Charlie smiled.

Hermione stood with a groan, stretching out her back. She was sore, her hair was a mess and she was still in yesterday's clothes. But, she had slept, and that gave her the courage to stomp toward the old trunk containing clothes from _that_ year. 

“These should fit you,” Hermione responded by tossing some of the boys clothes on the now empty couch. “I’ll take them by the bath house to get washed today when I drop off the blood replenishing potion. They’re no dragon leather but will at least give you something clean to sleep in.”

“Are you implying that I’m dirty?” Charlie questioned as he started breakfast. “Because I can promise-”

“I know you have a dirty mind and mouth Charlie,” Hermione responded with a smug grin. “Pick up new material. You’re becoming predictable.”

He continued to grumble as she slipped away to change. By the time she came back he was handing her breakfast and wolfing his down. The sun was just over the horizon and Charlie still had dragons to save. 

“Later, Baby.” He winked even as she scowled and disappeared out of the tent flap. 

Hermione cracked her neck, heading over to the cauldron. She scowled at the empty space when she realized he had aliquoted and labeled the vials as well. Very soon her mouth curved into a smile as she set the next round of potions brewing. He may be an absolutely hopeless flirt but he was kind when it mattered.

* * *

Her mind was still on Charlie hours later when she stopped by the infirmary to drop off her stock. She was pleased to see empty beds when she walked in but was less than thrilled that the snippy healers were now all free to glare at her as she invaded their space. 

With nothing else to fall back on Hermione reverted to her age old behavior of when someone looked down on her. She stuck her nose up into the air proudly and stomped to the potions closet. 

When she opened the door she was surprised to find the closet (sparsely) stocked with last night’s delivery in some semblance of order. Granted, she knew they needed them however Hermione was sure they would have just left a mess for her to shelve in the morning. Or at the very best, just set the basket on the floor and leave it there. Instead the potions were all placed on shelves, labeled for their different applications with single doses from her emergency supply standing in where future stocks still go. She charmed the blood replenishing potions to stack behind the other two available.

When she left the closet she stalked up to the blonde American from yesterday who was seemingly in charge. Hermione clearing her throat. The blonde sneered but ended her conversation, turning expectantly to Hermione. Hermione elected to take the high road.

“I noticed the potions stock room is very well organized.”

“Yes,” the blonde snapped. “We are capable of putting some vials away.”

Apparently not high enough. Hermione took a deep breath before trying again.

“Is that where you would like potions deposited in the future?”

“That depends on if it’s you or that handsome Dragon Master dropping them off.” She smirked cruelly. “I heard his wife isn’t doing it for him.”

“Well that was uncalled for.”

“I just call it like I see it.” The blonde looked her up and down, her nose scrunching. “And boy, does everyone see it.”

“What’s your problem?” Hermione snapped. What _was it_ with these women insisting on involving Charlie in everything? “I’m trying to help you.”

“Help us? Ha! Let me guess, you see us as some simple little trollops only here to find a husband?”

“What?” Hermione questioned with sincere confusion. “No. I would never-”

“Don’t bother back-tracking, we already know your type. We’ve got it handled.”

“You don’t though," Hermione hissed, knowing too much of human pride and where it leads. "You are under-trained and under-stocked. If you aren’t careful someone can die and-”

“We have _never_ let someone die and we don’t need your help! ” she shouted.

“You couldn’t even heal a simple dragonfire burn,” Hermione scoffed dismissively.

“How dare you assume that- Why you prissy little-”

The argument was interrupted by the crack of apparition and the sound of screaming. Hermione whipped around her wand out as she stared at the man leaning on his fellow and bleeding all over the white tile floors of the infirmary. He was pale and when the screamed morphed into a groan his head fell forward.

“Healer Hanson!” The non-injured soldier stumbled forward where the blonde, Hanson apparently, caught the two of them. Two more of the tittering healers were there in a second, guiding the injured part to a bed with a cold seriousness on their face. “We were on patrol and there was rockslide. I barely got us out before-”

“Hush,” Healer Hanson snapped, running her wand over the patient. An array of complex colors appeared over the patient in one of the most complicated diagnostic charms Hermione had ever seen. Within seconds the colors were gone and the witch was barking orders.

“You skele-grow and blood replenishing potions. You get him in a bed. You hot water. You pain charm. You-” she snapped glaring at Hermione “why are you still here?”

“I need your list of potions,” Hermione responded calmly, sliding her wand away as the groans faded. Clearly the man was at least not in danger of dying, but it still seemed uncouth to continue the argument in the presence of the injured. 

Healer Hanson grumbled before summoning an envelope from her desk. It wizzed to Hermione so quickly it would have smacked her in the face if she hadn’t caught it. 

“Anything else, _Mistress_ Weasley?” 

The title dripped with venom and Hermione inhaled sharply.

“You don’t have to call me that.”

“Whatever.”

Hermione sighed in defeat. There was no win to be had today.

“Save the bottles from potions you use. I can clean and reuse them. Just set them aside and I will pick them up when I drop off your next batch.”

“Fine. Get out of my infirmary.”

With that Healer Hanson spun on heel and disappeared back into the fray, the injured man already looking better and ready to be coddled by the bored healers. Hermione waited until she was outside to open the envelope. She swore softly when she saw all the potions needed. She knew how to make them all, or at least could reference a book. But she was going to be terribly busy for the next few days.

* * *

It was days before she could slip away from her lab. Both her and Charlie had worked dawn to dusk getting things up to snuff. There was only time for a quick shower and dinner before they fell into bed. By the time she made it there she was too exhausted to dream. Still, she wasn’t blind to the way Charlie stumbled over after he thought she was asleep to check for silencing charms on her bed. He was such a mother hen sometimes.

Hermione had spent her first free day helping him and Sora set up wards on the dragons, allowing them enough room to fly in a tight circle and sprawl out comfortably. It was all the Commander would allow. Charlie was confident he could wear Higgs down but it would take time and that just made him more irritable.

She had just expanded the last of the wards and could already see his involvement influencing the dragons. Their eyes were clearer, their scales shinier. Some even seemed to be taking a liking to Charlie, perking up when he visited, calming when he cooed at them. Honestly, it was really entirely expected at this point. The Welsh Green they had saved on arrival seemed to be particularly attached to him. The female tolerated him being in her pen without any restraint as long as he didn’t try to touch her and brought food. Every other remotely human shape was met with fire and claws. It was clear that she was unaccustomed to Charlie’s patient and gentle way of handling.

He had fired multiple workers for the way they treated the dragons, as if they were simply an annoying chore and nothing more. Charlie worked harder as a result but had found an unexpected assistant in Sora. While Hermione had been skittish of the apparently scheming Slytherin she was surprised to find she actually liked him quite a bit. He was kind and driven, with the burning love for dragons she had come to associate with only the best of Dragon Trainers.

Every time the Clerk was not attending a meeting with the Commander he could be found with Charlie down with the dragons, taking notes and getting hands on as Charlie needed him. No matter how burned or scratched up he got he walked out with a smile and a clap on the back. Hermione saw a lot of Charlie in him and she could guess that it was what he was like when he was a young Handler.

As it was, Charlie finally noticed her, waving her into the still rather tight quarantine pens. The sickest dragons were still confined to the small area, the lack of exercise actually ideal to prevent strain on their injuries. She joined him and Sora, staring at a large Opaleye who’s massive tail was swishing back and forth on the other side of the pen as he glared at them.

“Well he seems lovely,” Hermione remarked as the tail yet again slid across the dirt, warning them to stay away or get hit.

“He’s in pain,” Sora said sadly, his eyes softening as he stared. “We think it’s his tooth.”

“His tooth? Is that all?” Hermione questioned glancing at Charlie. Dragons frequently broke or cracked teeth but they tended to regrow so quickly that the damage wasn’t worth fixing. 

“I think it may be impacted,” Charlie grunted, staring down the Opaleye calmly until the tail began to slow. 

Hermione winced. Impacted fangs were no joke. They were rare but incredibly painful and would not resolve on their own. The new tooth was blocked by the broken one and would not break from the gumline without the one on top being pulled. If it were not removed it would eventually become too painful for the dragon to eat and it would die the slow death of starvation. 

“Have you fed him yet today?” Hermione asked. They would have to knock the dragon out for Charlie to pull it and a male that big was unpredictable under sedation. They would have to slip it in his meal and hope that he ate it all.

“Unfortunately,” Charlie sighed looking at Hermione pleadingly. “We are out of sleeping potion.”

“Oh! I’ll get started on more immediately,” Hermione said, cataloging what she would need. She could find substitutions for what she was missing in the forest and with some clever supplementation she could-

“We don’t have time Hermione,” Charlie interrupted.

Hermione blinked at him slowly.

“Then what-”

“Charlie mentioned,” Sora started. “That the two of you know a spell that can hypnotize adult dragons for a short time.”

Hermione glanced between the two men who both looked terribly guilty. Then it hit her.

“Oh no. No. No. Charlie you are not pulling an impacted tooth with only me and a complete novice serving as you sedators. He’s too unfamiliar with the spell. He doesn’t know-”

“You’re right,” Sora said firmly. “Which is why I will be pulling the tooth.”

“What?!?” Hermione shouted after a moment, making the Opaleye hiss. All three of them made cooing noises until the creature calmed again and Hermione was leading both men away by the wrist. When they were a serviceable distance away she threw up a silencing spell and turned on the men.

“Are you insane?!?” she whirled on Charlie, making the redhead flinch. She could count on one hand the times she had been this angry with him. “He’s not qualified to-”

“Hermione, Love, relax. I taught him the spells. All he has to do is reach in and pull. The kid’s a natural and-”

“Still a kid! He’s young with his whole life ahead of him. You are just blinded by your love for dragons to concern yourself with the fact you are putting a child at risk.”

“He’s been helping me all week! I was his age when I went to the Reserve,” Charlie defended. 

“Under the watchful eye of countless Handlers and Trainers, not one Master and a novice. You had been sneaking magical creatures home since before I was born,” Hermione snapped. “He is a Clerk. He isn’t qualified. He is-”

“Right here and capable of making his own fucking decisions!” Sora shouted. Hermione paused, somewhat taken aback by the usually quiet boy.

“Sora-”

“No. I appreciate your concern, Mistress Weasley. Really, it’s sweet.” Sora’s eyes softened a bit but he continued. “But I took this position to be close to these creatures. I snuck away from my family and joined a war so I wouldn’t have to see these poor beasts exterminated and discarded if they got in the way. I made my choice before you even arrived.”

He glared at her with great determination. Hermione paled as she saw a flash of Harry's face as he left during the Final battle before it was gone. In his place was just a young boy, trying to save some dragons. Hermione glanced from him to Charlie, who was no better. She may have been able to resist one, but crumbled in the face of both.

“Ohhhh Fine!” Hermione groaned, pinching her forehead. Why was it it no matter where she went she ended up with two stupid boys dead set on getting themselves killed? 

She ignored the grins both men were giving her as Charlie broke down the plan. Soon she found herself standing outside the Opaleye’s pen swinging her wand in time with Charlie as a subtle blue glow encased the dragon. 

She sighed feeling the magic take much easier than it had the last few times she had done this. On the Reserve they had at least three but usually five Trainers working this spell in case one member failed. She had to be in perfect sync with Charlie or else the Dragon’s trance would snap. 

Sora breached the wards cautiously his wand raised. Hermione held her breath, focusing on the careful rhythm Charlie was beating out against his thigh. The dragon didn’t so much as flinch, instead staring forward with unseeing eyes as Sora crept to its head. The Opaleye’s iridescent scales glimmered in the blue light as the Dragon’s chest rose and fell with each breath. When they had slowed to an almost sleep like state Charlie nodded at the Sora.

To Sora’s credit he didn’t hesitate, even for a second. He whispered the charm to levitate the dragon’s jaw open. In spite of the overall docile nature of Opaleyes, they were far from cuddly. The creature's fangs were several inches long and would slice through bone like butter. As soon as her eyes found the impacted tooth she inhaled sharply forcing herself to focus on the chant before her hand could shake.

The scent drifted to her from beyond the barrier, rotted and vile. The fang was chipped at the top, the jagged edge clearly irritating the gum above it to a bright red. But more emergent was the gum below it, inflamed and almost black in some places. Infection had set in around the impacted area and the skin would be incredibly painful. Hermione and Charlie linked eyes, both knowing what this meant. 

Charlie threw the pebble he was holding at Sora, all the while maintaining the trance. The boy looked at him curiously and when Charlie indicated to stop his face fell. Just as quick that determination was back and he turned back to the Opaleye. Hermione’s breath caught as he carefully made his way to the side of the jaw. The tooth was tucked in the back of the dragon’s mouth, just past the hinge of muscle that allowed the dragon control of his jaw.

Hermione looked at Charlie who had gone white. He indicated to maintain the trance because it was all that they could do. If they let it drop Sora would be dead before he left the ward line. If he pulled it anyway… well he was still probably dead but there was nothing they could do about it. This is why they always had more people. Hermione looked desperately around for someone, anyone to pull out the reckless Clerk, only to find an empty field, the few workers having gone to dinner with the setting sun. 

Hermione continued to glare at Sora because it was all she could do to keep from panicking. Every cleansing and numbing spell he cast was a risk. If their magics crossed it could cancel the trance and they would have an angry, confused dragon on their hands. 

By the time Sora reached into the dragon’s mouth, her heart was racing. He was only protected by the thin skin of her gloves that the dragon’s fangs would cut through instantly. When he touched the fang Hermione felt the spell jerk as the dragon fought for consciousness and her heart sank. Still she fought to maintain the trace even as Charlie signaled for Sora to get out. Still the boy didn’t listen and adjusted his grip. He held up three fingers on his left hand as he counted down. 1… 2… 3!

Hermione screamed as the dragon broke through her magic with a roar of pain. It reared up, knocking Sora to the ground as he attempted to scramble away. Charlie was there in a flash, pulling the boy to his feet as they made for the edge of the wards. Hermione threw up some of the golden balls but the Opaleye crashed through them with a shake of his head, making them dissipate. She watched in slow motion horror as the dragon turned away from the source of pain, its feet coming down hard on the ground and its body following behind it. 

She screamed again as the whipcord tail sliced through the air, landing on both men's backs with a crack and sending them flying out of the enclosure. In spite of her own body's reservations, she stumbled to her feet, her magic rioting at the spell snap. She was forced to lumber around the long way, not daring to risk the now flaming Opaleye as it melted everything inside the bubble possible in its rage. By the time she made it to them both boys were groaning and Charlie was attempting to help Sora sit up.

“I-Idiots!” She shouted hurrying over to examine Sora. She gasped when she noticed the blood soaked lash on his shirt, right over his spine. If it cut too deep he may never be able to walk again. Hermione felt that fear she hadn’t experienced in years creep over her like ice. She took a deep breath and yanked it up, sobbing to see the shallow flesh wound striping along his back. 

“Is it-”

“You stupid. Stupid boy!” she cried, turning and pulling him tightly to her chest. It was wholly inappropriate but for that very moment he could have been anyone. Harry, Ron, Neville, Fred. Injuries like that only came out surface if you were lucky, and Hermione had never been lucky.

“Mistress-”

“Call me Hermione you absolutely barking mad, daft, in-insolent-” the rest of her words were lost to sobs. She felt Charlie’s warm hand on her shoulder before Sora awkwardly wrapped her hands around his back. By the time she got a hold of herself and pulled back she was surprised to find tears leaking down his face as well.

“Are you okay?” she asked, already digging in her bag for a cleaning solution. She withdrew it, handing it off to Sora while Charlie ran a weak diagnostic charm on the boy.

“That was t-terrifying,” Sora responded.

“Welcome to dragons mate.” Charlie laughed, pulling them both to a stand. Sora’s legs wobbled but Hermione and Charlie both caught him. “Did you pull the tooth?”

Sora grinned, blinking the last of the tears away and holding out his hand. In it he held a dragon’s fang, nearly six inches long and razor sharp.

“Good man. After Hermione here is done doting on you we’ll get you sent to the infirmary and find you a beer. The first scar has always been a right of passage for every Dragon Handler. I’m not about to change that.”

Sora smiled brightly then winced as he moved to take a step. Charlie rolled his eyes, pulling most of the boy’s weight onto his shoulder as they hobbled just past the anti-apparition wards Hermione had placed over the dragon’s pens. They were gone in a crack and Hermione went off to find that beer. Merlin knew they were going to need a lot of it.


	9. Chapter 9

“And I am telling ya! That little sweetheart didn’t even know. I’m pretty sure we just surprised him!”

Hermione couldn’t help but laugh as Sora swayed next to her, loudly telling the story of his first Dragon injury. Over the years she had heard some iteration of it enough times from enough people but it never failed to warm her heart. Dragon Handlers really were a breed of their own and their love for their craft was apparent in their scars and their eyes. Sora was shaping up to be one hell of a Handler… or he would have been if they were in their own timeline.

Hermione sipped on some of the mixed drinks that they had made. She had been able to nick a bottle of rough made vodka that the Russians were working on. It was made with some sort of Romanian root and smelled slightly pine-y but didn’t taste awful. The burn chasing down the back of her throat cooled the last of her fear from the day, numbing her senses just enough to lull her into a sense of cautious peace.

Hermione was pulled from Sora's story (which now involved a very descriptive section of the sheen of respect in the dragon's eye) when a high pitched laugh cut through the air on the other side of the large bonfire in the center of camp. Two of the healers had stopped Charlie on his way back from the bathroom and were ‘checking’ on his new injury which seemed to involve far too much touching to be medically standard. The one closest to him was smiling and nodding while resting her hand on his hip. 

The other caught her eye through the flames and smirked before pulling at Charlie’s wrist, trying to coax him to sit with them. Hermione scoffed to hide the stick feeling in her stomach and looked back to Sora who had dropped the story and was watching the interaction with sharp eyes.

“Sorry about them Hermione,” he said, more than a bit drunkenly. “It’s not _really_ their fault. They’re bored here. They were promised excitement, battles, and glory. Instead they sit in a building all day trying to fix idiot boys who poke dragons and don’t know which end of a wand spells come out of.”

“There is no glory in war,” Hermione responded darkly, staring at the Clerk-come-Dragon Handler. "And they don't need to be so catty about it."

“What do you know of war?” Sora asked.

“More than anyone would care to know,” she answered quietly.

“You’re so young though.”

“Exactly,” Hermione responded, catching Charlie as he finally shook off the Healers and headed back over. He rolled his eyes dramatically and it made her smile. “There’s a lot about us you don’t know.”

“And this is you telling me that I shouldn’t ask?”

“And this is why I like dealing with Slytherins.” Hermione smiled broadly and ruffled the young wizards hair. He yelped and pushed her hand away with a glare that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“What’s this? A snake?” Charlie asked plopping down on Hermione’s other side. “Sora I thought you were with the Romanians.”

Charlie lazily threw an arm around her shoulder and Hermione could just make out the Healers scoffing on the other side of the fire. She knew it was petty but she relaxed into his side, snuggling closer to him with a sigh. They had parts to play after all and it was quite cold. His chest all but burned beneath his shirt and hardened muscles of his arm softened against her shoulders as he relaxed, toying with the collar of her shirt.

“My mum is a Brit so I went to Hogwarts when she left my da' and moved back. I still spent summers here with him though and when I wrote him about wanting to join up, he took me in and got me registered. He’s pretty well in with the Reserves.”

“Is he going to be mad that I cut up his baby boy?” Charlie asked, plopping a hand to ruffle at Sora’s hair just like Hermione had. Sora jumped away scowling before he could manage it and huffed.

“Oh shut it.” Sora glanced at the way Charlie’s arm settled on her shoulder and scoffed. “You two are disgusting. Go back to your tent and leave us single people to our misery.”

Sora stumbled away, over to a new set of soldiers who had yet to hear the story of his daring fang removal. Hermione knew part of it was for the bragging rights but the majority of it was because he was proud he had saved the creature.

She was pulled from her musings when Charlie’s arm tightened around her pulling her almost into his lap. When she glanced up at him curiously he was watching a group of Healers just out of the light of the fires. They would glance over and point from time to time before tittering.

“Charlie.”

“What?”

“You’re… awfully clingy tonight.” 

Hermione frowned when he startled. He blushed slightly, unwinding his arm from her shoulder. She missed the warmth his body had been providing immediately and cursed herself for saying anything at all. It was always nice to be held by Charlie, like she was safe and wanted, even if it didn't mean anything in particular.

“Sorry about that, Hermione,” he grumbled. “I just…”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t like how they treat you… or me… or us I suppose.” He scratched at the back of his head while Hermione waited for him to sort his thoughts out.

“The healers… they don't like you do they?” Charlie asked finally.

“I suppose you could say that,” Hermione answered with a slight smile.

“Erm… not to be callus, but do they have a reason to?”

“Sounds like something you should ask them.” Hermione paused. “But no. No more than usual. I haven’t been overly friendly to them but they haven’t liked me overly much since the first time they saw me. Ebbenflow, the Weather Witch, says it has something to do with being specialized.”

“I see.” Charlie leaned back, staring at the sky with a frown. “They say things about you and our relationship. Like that I never touch you and clearly don’t want you. They act like I am just suffering through our... marriage and I… “ 

Charlie glanced at her, his eyes catching the reflection of flames from the bonfire. The hazel flickered between green, orange, and brown reminding Hermione of the countryside in fall and all the wonderful memories she had gained with the man over the years. They may not actually be married but it was hard to argue that there was anyone else more important in their lives than each other. 

“I wouldn’t mind being married to you. I’d be damned lucky. Hell,” Charlie continued quietly. “Even if this were real, you’d deserve better than an old, cut-up man like me.”

“Oh, Charlie,” Hermione sighed, taking the moment to ruffle his hair, knocking it out of it’s leather tie. It fell through her hands like silk and he sighed happily. “Stop that. I’d be thrilled to have you. Any witch would be.”

“Still-” he groaned as her fingers scratched against his scalp. “They imply that you don’t take care of me. I don’t need to be taken care of and if I did, you are the only one who could certainly nag me into compliance.”

Hermione gave him a mock glare and tugged sharply at his hair. He jumped and swore, his eyes shooting open. There was a quarter of a second where she thought she had hurt him by the way his jaw clenched but he quickly settled back into the laid-back jovial man she had grown fond of.

“Alright then,” Hermione said defiantly. “If you are so worried about what they think. Prove it.”

“What?”

“We’re a couple aren’t we?” Hermione challenged. “Shouldn't we act like it?”

“I don’t…” Charlie’s eyes drifted to her lips and her pulse skipped a beat. Hermione jumped as Sora settled on the next bench over with his new friends, starting the story for the fiftieth time tonight.

She shook her head, clearing the thoughts. Instead she scooted a bit further down the bench from Charlie and patted her lap. The Healers, as generally catty as they may have been, did have a point. Charlie and Hermione rarely looked like a couple during the work day. Other than the fact they lived in the same tent they just seemed like coworkers from the outside looking in. Which of course, they were, but that didn’t fare well for their cover.

“Come on then… lay down.”

“There?” Charlie asked quizzically.

“No, on the hard packed ground,” Hermione quipped. “Yes here. If you don’t I will be forced to lament about my cold husband who doesn’t let me take care of him. Maybe some young conscript will take pity and steal me away. Then what will you do?”

Charlie laughed but said nothing as he maneuvered his way down. His head rested on her thighs with his long form thrown casually over the bench. He stretched out, his body taking up more room than anyone rightfully deserved and drawing her eyes up and down his-

“Well I feel objectified already.” Charlie smirked when she glared down at him. “Not that you aren’t a lovely pillow but what-”

He cut himself off with a groan as her hands dug back into his hair, massaging the scalp and the hard muscles of his neck and shoulders. Little by little he melted against her, warming her more than the flames with his body heat. Her cheeks flushed red, the little sounds of pleasure he was making did not seem appropriate for polite company. 

By the time she had worked his muscles to a less-than-tense state he looked more relaxed than she had seen him since arriving. That was the problem with Charlie, because he was always so even-headed and laid-back it was hard to notice when he was stressed. There were quiet signs if you cared to look; the tension in his jaw, the pulling of his mouth into a tight line. But after years spent in each other’s company she had learned him well and with him all but collapsed on her lap she was happy to keep him there. Charlie worked hard and always put everyone and everything else before himself. He deserved a good rest.

She cracked her fingers and wove them through the long strands of his hair. Little bits here and there were burned and she cut them off as she went, trying her best to make it look natural. Not that Charlie cared one way or another. She swore that without her and Marley’s assistance Charlie’s hair would look like a pine tree most days

When that was done she carefully undid his braid, carefully setting aside the hand carved beads and gleaming golden feather. Her fingers picked apart the braid, carefully teasing out the small knots as she went. From the look of the new growth at his roots he hadn’t done this since her last visit and she scoffed.

“Something to say, wife?” Charlie hummed. 

“You know I won’t always be here to do this for you. You should learn how.” 

“Is that you saying you want a divorce?” 

“Oh shut up.” Hermione laughed along with Sora and his mates who appeared to be watching the interaction with envy. She stuck out her tongue at them and set about braiding the strands together, occasionally sliding a bead onto one or the other. Charlie had five, one for each of the eggs he had hatched. When she finished she tucked the quill of the feather into the weave and tied it all off with a new sticking and impervious charm.

“There you are,” she said, inspecting her work. “All done.”

With a deep groan Charlie rose, turning slightly so that he leaned over her. As he always did, he pulled at the curl at the base of her neck, silently asking her when she would let him give her her feather.

“We’ll have to get one for Sora at this rate,” he hummed, his breath brushing against her collarbone and sending a shiver down her spine. “He’s shaping up to be quite a respectable Dragon Handler.”

“Good luck getting him away from Higgs,” Hermione scoffed, she caught his eyes and smiled. “Well, have I completed my wifely duties to your satisfaction?”

Charlie’s eyes grew dark and that sly smile pulled at his lips. His hand dropped to cup her chin turning her up to face him. She could hear her blood rushing in her ears as he hung over her.

“Not quite.”

Hermione gulped and her eyes dropped to his mouth. Surely not, he wouldn’t. They were supposed to be married and married people did tend to kiss but Hermione honestly had never seen Charlie kiss anyone. He was very private with his relationship and on the rare occasion he had one, he kept it away from his family and friends. Out in a public place like this he couldn’t-

“I have had to do my own laundry since arriving,” Charlie responded seriously, dropping his hand away. “My tea is stale. There is mud on my boots and you smacked me three times today. Honestly you are a dreadful wife.”

Sora and the men next to them laughed. Hermione’s heart rate slowed dramatically. A small part of her was the tiniest bit hurt but not from the words. She shook away the thought instantly. She had never considered the idea of her and Charlie before now and doing so while being trapped in the past was not the ideal circumstance for it.

“Well if you wanted those things you should have known better than to take me as a wife,” Hermione responded primly, sticking her nose into the air.

“Eh, those things are boring and I can do them myself,” Charlie responded, still not having lost  _ that _ smile. Hermione narrowed her eyes. “However, that thing you do with your tongue is-”

“Charlie Steptimus Weasley! What would your mother say!” Hermione screeched, slapping his chest and blushing furiously. Charlie fell backward coughing as the onlookers and broke into laughter. Soon Hermione found herself joining them as Charlie swore viciously.

“That’s four, witch.”

By the time they returned to their tent hours later they were tipsy and laugh-drunk. Charlie had walked through camp with her tucked under his arm the whole way and she was sure that she had to smell like him at this point. Not that she minded, he always smelled like outside and the sky.

“Well, I’d say we make a cute couple don’t you?” Charlie asked as he swayed through the living room. She couldn't help but notice the way his long legs still moved steadily as if incapable of tripping even while drunk. 

“I have always had a thing for red-heads,” Hermione hummed in response, her head spinning slightly. 

“Don’t tell my brothers!” Charlie gasped dramatically. “I’ll never get you back.”

“Oddly enough, they say the same thing about you,” Hermione laughed.

“Well wife, it’s time for bed.” Charlie pulled off his shirt revealing the hard toned muscles of his back. 

Hermione couldn’t help but let her eyes trace down the contours of his back, the ink of his tattoos swirling along his shoulders. The African Onyx-Claw shifted in place from where it lounged, clearly pleased with the work her hands had done on its bed, it’s massive black wings stretched out absently to span the width of Charlie's shoulders before tucking around its form as it snored. Vines crawled up his shoulder, providing scaffolding for the smallest breed of dragon, a Pixie Drake. The palm-sized creatures see-through wings were more insect that reptile but their little puffs of poison breath were deadly none-the-less. Charlie had long since explained that she reminded him very much of a Pixie Drake, small and unassuming but vicious in defending what was hers. 

“Hm?” she responded, shaking out of her distraction to a smug grin from Charlie as he turned.

“I asked if you wanted to join me in our marriage bed but if you’d prefer to attack me where I stand I wouldn’t mind that either.”

“That’s a cot,” Hermione deadpanned, stalking away swiftly to hide her blush. 

Her brain was still fuzzy from the alcohol and just reckless enough to consider agreeing. Thankfully Charlie just laughed and called out his goodnight across the tent as she settled into her own bed. Soon the sound of soft snoring echoed through the tent, lulling her into a dream-filled sleep where hazel eyes burned as they watched her, and his hair dragged across her skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo, I am fighting off that cold, dark seasonal depression. Give me your favorite songs that make you FEEL!
> 
> Sad, happy, angry, hype. I want them all for my playlist.


	10. Chapter 10

A week later and camp was stirring. News and gossip flowed through the camps in waves. Even Sora had mostly disappeared from meals as meetings ran all hours of the day. Hermione grew more agitated as time flowed on. It was too close, too reminiscent of the secrecy of the order. But this time, she was not an eager child, upset at being left out. Now she wanted nothing to do with it at all.

Instead she brewed, finally getting both the human and dragon’s potions up to snuff. She helped Charlie take stock of their dragons. After adjustments to the ward and proper treatments they were left with eighteen dragons from various parts of Europe and the one male Opaleye that had apparently crash landed after a vicious storm.

She was completing the feeding rounds and hauling the mysterious meat that the camp trappers had caught into the pens. Thankfully, as reptiles, dragons only ate about once a week and spent most of their time lounging when not pacing their pens. Sora had ensured her and Charlie that the dragons were frequently taken out for scouting flights prior to the most recent injuries that resulted in the standstill while everyone healed. 

Charlie had not managed to convince Higgs to allow for larger enclosures but he did succeed in transfiguring caves and trees to provide cover within the individual bubble pens. The dragons reacted in kind, becoming less snappish and even letting Charlie and Sora enter the pen to muck it out while they ate, but it could only do so much when the creatures of the air were confined to the ground.

The tension had been growing to the point of unbearable when it was finally announced. Now that they were healed, the dragons would be going out tomorrow for a scouting flight and Charlie was to ensure they were prepped and ready to go. As soon as Sora popped away, Charlie set about ensuring that the dragons would be fed extra by the workers and insisted on running health checks again by himself, not that he was expecting any injuries. But above all Charlie was a doting mother to his dragons and that mean he wanted to be ready for anything. It only took one glance to Hermione for her to know what he needed.

Without another word she apparated away and began brewing. Injury and burn potions were on the docket along with sleeping and restorative potions as well. Apparently the dragons were trained by individual Handlers who would command the beast from their broomstick, similar to walking a dog. They flew back when given the command and would to return to Charlie for health checks. Few issues were expected on such a quick mission but the commander wanted to ensure that the dragons were in top shape. 

However, midway through her brewing she quickly realized that she needed to go foraging. Hers and the camps stock had been depleted getting the infirmary up and running. With a groan of frustration for her lack of forethought she sighed, slipping on her leathers and gathering gear before apparating to the forest edge.

She had barely wandered more than a few feet before finding some Wormwood. Blessing her luck and the high magical energy of this place she hummed as she dug it up slipping it into her bag. This continued every twenty feet or so, the excess magical energy from the dragons and wizards encouraging an over abundance of magical plant growth.

She wasn’t surprised when she rounded a tree and all but fell into a path of Dogrose. Hermione smiled, happily clearing out the patch and already allocating it mentally to the batch of sleeping potion she was making. If only she could find more. 

As if answering her prayers she caught sight of another patch further into the forest and happily skipped forward. However before she could collect she saw another in the distance, and another. 

_I must be on a ley line,_ she mused as she clipped.

Hermione followed the Dogrose path, clipping the buds of new growth as she moved through the forest. She barely noticed the trees thinning and the sunlight warming her skin as she worked. It was only when a female low voice spoke that she realized she wasn’t alone.

“Good evening, Mistress Weasley,” Ake hummed from her spot in the clearing. Her long, raven hair was spread around her head, intertwining with the grass in a way that made her look like she was melting into the very earth. Her arms were spread out while her fingers dug into the ground. When Hermione yelped in surprise it drew a smile to the younger witches face even with her eyes closed.

“You scared the life out of me Ebbenflow!” Hermione huffed, stomping her way over. The other girl still hadn’t moved from her prone position on the grass. “Taking a nap?”

“Not really. My people always think of it as a way to reconnect with magic itself.”

“I don’t follow,” Hermione responded.

“I wouldn’t suppose you do,” Ake responded, finally pushing up to her feet and staring at Hermione’s basket. “You’re gathering things. For potions I hear.”

“Er-” Hermione stumbled, pulling the basket to her body suspiciously. She hadn’t told anyone she was leaving. “Yes.”

“I can help you with that.” 

“I don’t think-” 

Ake cut her off by blowing past her without a care in the world.

Hermione tilted her head but said nothing as the other witch sauntered to the edge of the clearing from Hermione’s patch of Dogrose. She frowned as Ake picked at something before shaking her head and moving on.

It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate the help, even if it came in the form of a snippy American witch. It was more so that in her experience, people who weren’t Herbalist or Potioneers were dreadfully unhelpful with selecting the right plants. Potions were very finicky and her specialized ones were even more so. A root that was too thin or thick could cause a potion to fail. A leaf too young or too old could cause an explosion. Never mind that one must correctly identify a plant prior to all of this and that-

“These should work nicely. If you are looking for something particular that grows in the area I can find you some of that as well.”

Hermione glanced down at the offered herbs in shock. Not only were they the correct plants but they were also all the parts of the plants picked at the height of their magical effectiveness. Some of which Hermione recognized but had no idea grew in the area.

“How did you-”

Ake smiled softly sliding the plants into her basket.

“I asked and followed the magic.”

Hermione frowned down at the offerings but by the time she glanced back at the other witch, she was already drifting along the path, humming to herself. Weighing the merits of assistance versus the company Hermione sighed and set off behind Ake. Honestly she wasn’t remarkably nice but she was the only woman in camp who didn’t look at Hermione like she was a particularly annoying gnat. Who knows, maybe she would learn something.

00000000000

Hermione and Ake walked and gathered for hours. The American was remarkable knowledgeable of the local flora considering she wasn’t native to the area. She offered different uses and substitutions as they moved.

“Are you a Potioneer as well?” Hermione asked up at Ake who was currently about seventeen feet up in a tree tossing down pinecones to Hermione. The woman wove through the branches expertly and with a natural grace that had Hermione wondering if she was fully human.

“Hm? On no, not at all,” Ake responded before making a daring leap to the next tree over that had Hermione’s heart catch in her chest. 

“Then why can you identify all these magical plants?”

“When we were children if we found something of use we would take it to the... well, your people call him a Medicine man, like a potioneer in some respects," Ake responded tossing down a chunk of old crystallized honeycomb before disappearing into the branches. “If the children of the village brought him something magical and useful he would give us special treats. I leaned how to ask the Earth Mother for guidance while playing so that I could find the best.”

Hermione yelped as Ake dropped down next to her from nowhere. A smile pulled at her lips.

“I have always been her favorite.”

“Was she your leader?” Hermione asked 

“No,” Ake laughed. “But she _is_ all around us, guiding our steps as we walk.”

“Sure,” Hermione respond neutrally, observing her filled-to-the-brim basket. “I don’t think we can fit much more in here. Thank you so much for your help. Really this is wonderful.”

“Happy to assist.” Ake smiled. “Now do I get a treat from you too?”

The other witch laughed openly but Hermione smirked. She dug into her beaded bag and withdrew an old sugar quill. She handed it off to Ake watching the other woman blink at it.

“If I keep getting ingredients of this quality, I will be happy to bribe you with sweets.”

Ake shrugged and stuck the tip of the quill in her mouth, her eyes lighting up at the sweetness.

“I haven’t had candy since rationing began!” she commented sucking greedily at the quill. “I forgot how much I missed it. How on earth did you get ahold of such a treat?”

“It’s pretty old,” Hermione responded with a blush. Objectively speaking it was _very_ old having been a gift from the twins last Christmas. But considering that December 25th 2003 wouldn’t be occurring for another sixty years Hermione didn’t feel bad about lying.

00000000000000

“Maybe just one more check on Veridia,” Charlie pleaded even as Hermione and Sora tugged him toward the cliff overlooking the dragon pens. “I’m still a bit worried about her wing infection and just because it _looks_ fine doesn’t mean-”

“Mate you’ve got to calm down,” Sora responded with a laugh. “The dragons are desperate to get back into the sky. You can’t keep clucking over them like they’re made of glass or they’ll roast you.”

Hermione rolled her eyes indulgently. It was entirely to Charlie’s character that long after the Welsh Green had healed from her wing injury that Charlie was still doting on her. He had always had a soft spot for the female dragons but had thankfully learned his lesson from the ‘Popcorn’ incident and given this girl a respectable name.

“But-”

“You don’t want to miss this, seriously Charlie,” Sora promised, coming to a stop at the crest of the outcropping.

“They’ll be fine,” Hermione soothed Charlie’s ruffled feathers by stroking his back softly. “It’s just a scouting mission. They’ll fly out then back in before eating a bear’s worth of meat and sleeping soundly. You’ve taken good care of them, they can handle it.”

“I suppose,” Charlie groused.

The truth of it was that he couldn’t even be down there if he had wanted to be. The Dragon Riders had arrived and instantly rubbed Charlie the wrong way. They barely acknowledged the dragons, frequently scowling at the cries and flames of the creatures. For some reason the beasts grew particularly snappy when Charlie was anywhere near them. 

Eventually it became clear that if the riders had any hope of getting the dragons in the air, and thus some much needed exercise, Sora and Hermione had to pull him away. Sora did this with a promise of stunning views of take off at the secret spot he knew.

Hermione had to admit, it was a stunning view. The packed earth of the dragon pens had been charmed to grow into a field of deep verdant green, speckled with wild flowers. The caves and hollows that made up the dragon’s dens dotted the landscape quietly, making it look every bit as natural as any other mountain meadow.

“They’re starting!” Sora cried, all but vibrating in excitement. In his drunken haze last week he had told her that he fell in love dragons as a young boy, watching the wild Romanian ridgebacks on his father’s knee. They would sit on the porch, staring over the mountains at sunset, watching the dragons leave for the night. He swore it was like watching magic be born.

Hermione knew what he meant, having spent many sunrises and sunsets watching the Rookery empty and fill as the day passed. The thought made her long for home, even if most of what she missed was usually done next to the same redhead already standing with her.

Below them, the blurred shape of men gathered, separated out by the Navy blue uniforms most of the soldiers wore. Commander Higgs was giving orders, another reason Charlie had been sent away. He had taken to wearing down the commander with requests for better care of the dragons and Charlie knew that this first mission would be essential to showing what he had and could continue to improve if the dragons were in better shape.

The men soon scattered, separating to the different pens. She focused on the nearest one, barely making out the dragon as Charlie’s Welsh Green. Even from this distance Hermione could see them draw their wands, pointing it at the dragon. Perhaps to take down the ward and-

“No!” Charlie roared as a painfully red bolt of magic shot toward Veridia. She reared on her back legs and Hermione was forced to grab Charlie around the waist before he threw himself from the cliff in sheer panic.

“It’s okay Charlie!” Sora shouted, joining Hermione to successfully pull the red-head back. Charlie didn’t stop pulling until Veridia dropped back onto her forelimbs calmly, that red-hot burst of magic having connected to the copper collar around her neck like a sparking leash. 

The Rider waved his free arm and the wards shimmered away, allowing her to exit from her pen slowly. All of the dragons were standing quietly outside of their pens next to the Riders without a single snap or growl. It was absolutely remarkable… and a bit uncanny as well. Hermione had never seen dragons behave so cooperatively and placidly. While they were in no way stupid, they were undeniably aggressive and territorial. To have some many just standing around awaiting orders was all but unheard of.

Before Hermione could think on it future, the Riders mounted their brooms and took to the sky, guiding their wards forward as they went.

Now, Hermione had never been one for jewelry or riches. She had seen great wealth before, stacked-high piles in the Lestrange vault and she was far too preoccupied with starving and dark magic to be impressed. But, when the dragons rose on the command of their Riders against the deep green of the field and forest, Hermione would swear that if she could capture the creatures in a perfect relief, that she would lace them around her neck and never take it off.

The dragons launched into the air with ease, eager to shake the stiffness from their wings. The brooms could barely keep up as they scattered against the blue backdrop of the sky looking for all the world like someone had thrown a handful of treasure in the air. Rich emeralds, sapphires, and rubies, beat their wings, catching the sun and glittering in one perfect moment.

Next to her, Charlie slipped his hand into hers, holding it lightly. She tore herself away to glance at his face, seeing an expression of abject wonder. His eyes glittered like his dragons did, filled with the joy and pride for his charges as they cut across the sky, unwilling to return to the earth from which they were freed.

“I’ve never seen them like this,” Sora whispered quietly from Charlie's other side. “So… alive and wild.”

“Dragon’s have never truly been tamed,” Charlie responded softly, watching the last of the party disappear into horizon. “They simply allow us to admire them.”

“I can’t help but feel like it’s a gift.” Sora said.

“It is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ehhhh, I don't know how to feel about this chapter. *shrug*


	11. Chapter 11

There had been silence, peace even. Then Ake showed up.

“Sister! Do you by chance have any more of those sweets?” 

Hermione nearly jumped three feet in the air at her voice. She spun to glare at the witch only to find Ake admiring a broken tea set that the Opaleye had gathered. To her credit she didn’t touch it or seem inclined to remove it, she was just observing it. Like one would a child's drawing.

With the dragons out and about, Charlie wasted little time. He set Hermione to cleaning out the pens and fetching the odds and ends the dragons had gotten a hold of over the last week. A leather boot here, a shovel there, really anything shiny or what they deemed valuable enough to add to their hoards. She left anything harmless and just removed whatever could be toxic, needed to be returned, or could rot.

“I do,” Hermione responded firmly, still unsure of where she stood with the witch. 

Honestly, in a better setting Hermione would be pestering her with questions. She had asked around and discovered Ake to be from a Native tribe from somewhere in North America. In her time, most of the Cultural information of the native people of America had been lost and what remained was safely guarded.  She thought about asking the others but the American soldiers who were present seemed oddly dismissive of Ake, apparently never having bothered to talk to her or even learn her name. They had no idea who Hermione was asking after until she referred to Ake as ‘the Weather Witch’. At that point they just shrugged and moved away.

While Hermione was painfully curious about the rare, nearly wiped out branch of magic she had only heard whispers of in her life she didn’t really know how to approach it. It was clear from their jaunt in the forest that Ake had some sort of skill that allowed her to find magical plants. But as to what it was? Hermione had no idea.

“Well, share then,” Ake chided

“Where are my herbs then?” Hermione joked pulling the last scrap of spoilt pelt out of the Ridgeback’s hoard and vanishing it with her wand. Ake’s nose did scrunch up unpleasantly but she made no other indication that she was bothered. 

“It’s about to storm. No reason to get wet. How about I-”

Hermione had just finished when the first cry shot across the valley. Her eyes found Charlie instantly, who had lowered his wand and turned toward the horizon. Rising and sinking just above the tree-line was a speck of emerald green, barely able to be seen from this distance.  An evergreen that deep could only belong to their Welsh Green but something felt... off.

Hermione paused, watching the green dot dip and rise unevenly. She frowned, spotting Charlie nearby and scurried over, Ake following her dutifully. He was still watching the incoming dragon, his brow scrunched up in concern.

“They’re back,” he murmured. But he was still staring off in the distance, watching as clouds gathered over the mountains. Hermione finally realized what was so off, there was only one dragon on the horizon… where were the others?

“Something's wrong,” Ake said, her own eyes closed and her face pulled into a scowl. 

“You said there’s a storm coming,” Hermione suggested even as she began to spell away their cleaning tools.

“There is,” Ake agreed, cracking open her eyes as the dragon came closer, clearly struggling to stay in the air, the magic of its leash weak and flickering. 

“Hermione, call Sora. Now!” Charlie shouted rushing toward Veridia’s pen. It was rare that Charlie barked orders like that so she didn’t hesitate. Her patronus came into being instantly, sensing the urgency as it awaited the message.

“Sora, something is wrong. Get to the pens immediately.”

The otter was off like a shot and both Ake and Hermione were charging to catch up with Charlie as the female came swooping over the field. They reached her area just as the leash broke and she crashed into her pen with a roar of pain. 

Hermione was there a moment later, joining Charlie at the edges of the wards as she flamed viciously in the direction of her Rider. Hermione was prepared to question the Rider when she noticed the dark purple staining the front of his uniform.

Sora appeared with a crack, spinning around at the bright white of her flames.

“What-”

“No time,” Hermione responded. “Sora, get in there and help Charlie. Ake, I am so sorry but help them out wherever you can. I’ll load you up on sugar later.”

If Ake had any aversion to the man-eating beast she hid it well, dashing over to the opposite side of the pen with Sora where they were all trying to calm Veridia. 

Hermione focused on the Rider, ignoring his burned broom and glaring at what was some sort of slicing curse on his chest. It glowed dark blue around the edges and she had a feeling her emergency first-aid wouldn’t be enough.

“Can you hear me?” She asked as she maneuvered the man over her shoulder. “Hello? What were you hit with? What color was it?”

The man didn’t respond, just moaned as she moved him. Hermione swore as she focused herself and apparated to the newly warded infirmary with a crack. She stumbled as she entered, surprised to be caught by strong hands. 

“What in God’s name- Mistress Weasley?” Hermione bit back a groan at the sound of Healer Hansen’s voice. This was no time for petty squabbles.

“He’s hurt,” Hermione responded, gathering her footing and hauling up the Rider. Hansen swore and jumped to his other side. Together, they guided the man to a nearby bed. “There's a wound on his chest. I asked if he knew what he had been hit with but he didn’t respond.”

“Stand back,” Hansen barked and Hermione scrambled away. Suddenly all sorts of charms were floating around the man and Hansen was casting faster than Hermione could even read them. “Dark, very dark. This is bad.”

She began directing the Healers as they rushed to save the man who had fallen to a pale white color. Hansen held her wand over his body and whispered a spell that instantly had the man jumping back to consciousness, a remarkably tricky charm that Hermione knew was rarely used... at least in her time.

“What were you hit with?” Hansen asked firmly. 

“Navy blue,” the man gasped. “Jagged. Short bolt.”

“ _ Frigeta Ardetus _ ,” Hansen hissed. “I need a heat packs and Mikela. Tell her she needs her kit to cut away the dead skin. Someone grab a pain potion and anesthetic. Move it.” Hansen turned back to the man, gasping desperately as he writhed and the blue, black color encroaching further. 

“What happened?” Hermione asked, heedless of the glare Hansen sent her way. But Hermione knew war, the sort that had injuries like these didn’t end after one curse. “Did you come under attack? Where are the others?”

“Others,” he grunted. “Behind me. Coming back.”

“Hell! Alright ladies get moving, we’ve got more coming in!” Hansen shouted, casting a powerful sterilization charm from where Mikela appeared next to the bed with a small tray. She unrolled the small bundle she carried containing instruments that reminded Hermione of the tools used in horror movies.

But Hermione didn’t have time to dawdle. More ‘coming in’ meant more dragons to land. She needed to be there.

“I need to-”

“Get out of here, Weasley,” Hansen hissed, casting a charm that secured the man to the bed. Another Healer shoved the pain potion down his throat but it would take five minutes to go into effect but the color was still encroaching, they didn’t have time to wait.

Hermione needed no more permission and apparated back to the dragon pens just as a scream tore through the air. The scream of pain was replaced by a different kind of chaos as she landed, apparitions of both those appearing and disappearing echoing across the field. The roars of dragons and flame punctuated the air along with the cries of the injured. For a moment Hermione froze, the fear of the final battle rushing back to her as clearly as if it had happened yesterday.

“Hermione!” Sora shouted, knocking her out of her stupor. She found him instantly, struggling to pull down a ward as a Rider wrestled with his charge, a rather ill tempered Swedish Short snout. 

She was by Sora’s side in an instant, pulling down the ward just in time for the dragon to enter before the leash broke and the dragon was flaming again. She threw up the wards, feeling the heat on her cheeks milliseconds before the bubble went into full effect. She pulled Sora with her, stumbling over to the Rider, who was swearing at the dragon and brushing off his robes.

“Injuries?” she snapped, trying to get a decent view at the drake through the fire. 

“No I’m fine. Just a bit-”

“Not you,” she growled, pinning him with a snarl. “The dragon!”

“That overgrown lizard nearly roasted me. You think I care-”

“Is he injured?!?” Hermione shouted, not caring about the way her wand sparked threateningly. The man gulped but grit his teeth.

“No. The White one behind us though was hit with something-”

Sora blanched and took off, leaving Hermione to trail behind as they dashed to the Opaleye’s pen. They arrived just as the dragon crashed to the ground, completely free of a leash and roaring in pain. Rivers of blood ran over its wings, dying the surface like winter berries on snow. 

“Hermione!” Sora shouted, trying to get into the wards. “Save him quick we have to-”

The sound was drowned out as the massive Hebrian Black dropped from the sky, still well leashed, but roaring in rage. It’s front leg was bleeding, a long gash dashed through the scales. 

Commander Higgs landed smoothly, dropping the handling spell just as Charlie raised the wards.

“Weasley, get your ass in there and fix my dragon,” he barked.

“Commander,” Sora pleaded, taking in the damage. “He’ll be fine. We have other dragons we need to-”

“That black one is the largest and most terrifying-looking beast we’ve got. I want him fixed before any of these other lizards get so much as a drop of attention.”

“If we do that,” Charlie interrupted. “ We could lose the others!”

“Then we will damn well get more. Fix my fucking dragon Weasley. It’s what you're here for!” the Commander shouted.

Before Charlie could respond a scream sounded behind them. All four turned to catch sight of a Ridgeback who had slipped his leash, the red chain snapping visibly as the dragon roared back in preparation to flame the rider.

“For fucks sake!  _ Imperio _ !” the Commander hissed stalking forward. The red bolt shot from his wand to latch onto the copper collar. Hermione blanched as the Dragon’s eyes dulled, freezing in place. “Walk back in your pen, you filthy creature. Smith, get a hold of your spell or I will find someone else who can!”

Hermione’s own reaction as stifled as she lunged to hold Charlie back. The Ridgeback limped forward, seemingly heedless of the fact it was dragging it’s back leg behind it at an odd angle. 

“How dare-”

“Charlie!” Hermione snapped, drawing his attention back to her. “Now is not the time. We have dragons to save.”

She saw him spend one precious moment warring with himself before the cry of the Opaleye echoed across the field. He glanced once at his pen and Hermione knew what he was thinking.

“Take care of the Hebrian,” she said. “You and Sora can put a patch job on him that will keep Higgs off your back. I’ll work on the Opaleye.”

“You can’t work alone.”

“Ake!” Hermione shouted. There was barely a moment's delay before the witch appeared beside her. Ake’s skin was blanched and her eyes were filled with a panic and sadness that reflected Hermione’s own mixed emotions. But there wasn’t time for that.

“I’m sorry, but I need help and I need it now. Dragons will die without-”

“Let’s go.”

Not waiting for permission, Hermione shot away from Charlie toward the Opaleye’s pen with Ake in tow. She was immediately concerned when the dragon barely hissed as they approached him. He hadn’t even bothered to drag himself into his cave and when the first drops of rain fell, they slithered down his hide, mixing with the blood.

Hermione slipped through the wards without hesitation, Ake following behind.

“There’s no time for a sleep potion so it’ll be dangerous. You’ll have to watch the-”

“You need him asleep?” Ake asked, stepping forward toward the Dragon’s snout. 

  
“Careful Ake! He’s in a lot of pain and it’s danger-”

“I’ll take care of it. Just give me a moment.”

Hermione stalled but took the claim at face value. She pulled out her field kit and withdrew the wound treatment potions. Ake settled just in front of the dragon, locking eyes with it as she slowly raised her hands. For a moment, everything existed in silence, the only sound was the raindrops splattering against the mud and Ake chanting in some unrecognizable language. Hermione didn’t have time to listen too deeply as the dragon's eyes slowly drifted shut and the small movements of its body stilled.

“Go!” Ake said firmly, barely breaking the chant. Hermione dove in, hissing at the burning as the blood touched her bare skin. Thankfully the rain falling washed most of it away and she was able to power through as she cleared the rest of the mess. However, the more blood that washed away, the more damage was revealed.

The Opaleye’s wing was mangled, the membrane torn past repair and the bone broken in multiple places. The blood rich surface was hemorrhaging but was not the source of the quickly growing pool at her feet. Finally she managed to levitate the wing and her heart sank.

Still sticking through the dragon’s chest, a sharp metal harpoon glimmered faintly, coated with the Opaleye’s blood. The jagged edges tore at the flesh around the exit wound, spiraling around in a conical pattern. Hermione had seen the same barbaric structure in hunting arrows. They prevented not only pulling the bolt back, but also pushing it forward without great damage. It was undeniably a death wound.

“Hermione,” Ake whispered, her voice heartbreakingly miserable. “I can’t-... he’s going. ”

“I can’t do anything either,” Hermione responded weakly, knowing that in her heart any action she took was too late and would only provide more pain. 

“Can you… make him more comfortable? Take away the pain?” Ake asked weakly, dropping her hands to run along the dragon’s snout. Even without her spell, the dragon didn’t flinch, its breath coming in short bursts of life as it slipped away.

Hermione choked as she reached into her kit, pulling out a onyx vial. It was a potion in all of her kits but one she never wanted to use.  She had made it for the reserve, an act of mercy for those dragons that were too old to hunt or eat, the only alternative being to starve. One that was to guarantee a peaceful, and final death.  No one other than the highest ranking of the Reserve even knew it existed and she had never had to use it personally. But now...

“I can,” Hermione whispered, the sounds around her fading back into nothingness as she uncorked the vial. It didn’t matter how it entered the body, the Dragon’s Bane in the potion would immediately seep into the bloodstream and find its way into the dragon’s brain, shutting down all activity until the heart stopped beating.

She rested her hand on the blood stained ridges dotting the dragon’s back. He was an ill tempered, hot headed beast, but he still didn’t deserve to go this way. No creature did. Not so soon and so far from home.

“I’m sorry,” Hermione whispered softly, tilting over the vial to allow a small stream to fall into the wound. The effect was almost instantaneous, the creature's breaths falling still and the blood flow slowing. Before it left, the creature opened its eyes once more, hazed with pain and a deep confusion that made Hermione’s chest ache. 

Then it was gone, pulling the warmth from the air around them.

Dragons died all the time, all things did. It was the natural progression of life. But still, Hermione couldn't help the utterly cold feeling that somehow, the Opaleye had taken some of the world's magic with it, leaving her gapingly alone.

It was only Ake’s careful hand on her shoulder that pulled Hermione from where she was staring at the closed eye of the dragon. When she was finally able to tear her gaze away, the other witch was watching her with a deep understanding. Ake wiped the tears Hermione hadn’t known were falling from her cheeks and rested their forehead against each other for a moment of peace before pulling away.

“There are more who need you. We _ will  _ mourn but we can’t yet.”

Hermione sniffed, intimately familiar with folding away her emotions for later. She swallowed the knot in her throat and gathered her kit. Though no one other than Charlie would know why, she conjured a black shroud laying it over the Opaleye and pulled down the wards.

Ake was right. She would absolutely crash later but right now, she could prevent another death. And that was a luxury she needed to take while it was available.


End file.
